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of  free  speecK,  free  press 
and  peaceful  assembly. 


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FROM 

Merguire  Bros. 

Books  and  Stationery, 

UNIVERSITY  AVE. 
PALO    ALTO. 


STUDIES   IN   STRUCTURE  AND  STYLE 


EXERCISES  IN  RHETORIC  AND  ENGLISH  COM- 
POSITION. For  High  Schools  and  Academies. 
By  Prof.  G.  R.  Carpenter. 

EXERCISES  IN  RHETORIC  AND  ENGLISH  COM- 
POSITION. Advanced  Course.  By  PROF.  G.  R. 
Carpenter. 

STUDIES  IN  STRUCTURE  AND  STYLE.  By  W.  T. 
Brewster.  With  an  Introduction  by  Prof. 
G.  R.  Carpenter. 


STUDIES 


IN 


STRUCTURE  AND  STYLE 


(BASED  ON  SEVEN  MODERN  ENGLISH  ESSAYS) 


BY 


W.   T.    BREWSTER,   A.M. 

Tutor  in  Rhetoric  and  English  Composition  in  Columbia  University 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

BY 

G.   R.    CARPENTER,   A.B. 

Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Composition  in  Columbia  University 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

LONDON :  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1896 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1896, 
By  MACMILLAN  AND   CO. 


;1      \ 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 


This  book  is  intended  to  supplement  the  study  of  the 
principles  of  Rhetoric  by  a  systematic  analysis  of  several 
pieces  of  modern  English  prose.  It  may  be  used  in  con- 
nection with  any  standard  text-book  on  Rhetoric,  but  is 
specially  designed  to  follow  Professor  Carpenter's  Exercises 
in  Rhetoric  and  English  Composition  (Macmillan),  the  ter- 
minology of  which  has,  to  some  extent,  been  adopted,  and 
to  which  many  references  have  been  made.  The  present 
volume  furnishes  a  basis  ipi  the  work  which  frequently 
comes  in  the  second  half  of  the  Freshman  year  in  college, 
and  is  introductory  to  the  detailed  study  of  the  methods  of 
composition  which  is  often  carried  on  in  the  Sophomore 
year;  but  it  may  also  be  used  in  schools  and  academies, 
especially  by  such  students  as  do  not  purpose  to  pursue  a 
college  course. 

The  essays  have  been  carefully  chosen  with  the  following 
ends  in  view:  (i)  that  they  should,  so  far  as  possible,  be 
complete  essays  or  chapters,  not  mere  selections ;  (2)  that 
they  should  be  good  literature;  (3)  that  they  should  be 
modern  pieces,  interesting  to  the  student,  and  suitable  as 
models.  In  the  selection  I  have  excluded  fiction  and  poetry ; 
and   have   arranged   the   pieces  in   the   order   of  complexity 


4G1258 


vi  Preface 

and,  when  possible,  of  contrast,  and  have  presented  them 
with  only  such  changes  as  uniformity  in  the  use  of  quotation 
marks  and  italics  demanded. 

In  annotating  the  selections,  I  have  placed  at  the  bottom 
of  the  page  whatever  information  has  seemed  to  me  neces- 
sary to  a  clear  understanding  of  the  text.  The  method  of 
study  is  indicated  in  the  notes  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 
There  are  two  complete  sets  of  these.  The  notes  on 
structure  are  by  far  the  more  important,  and  I  have  treated 
them  with  much  fulness.  My  aim  has  been  to  suggest 
general  principles,  and  to  allow  the  student  to  carry  out  the 
work  of  analysis  for  himself.  For  the  sake  of  a  more  com- 
plete treatment  of  the  subject,  the  suggestions  for  the  study 
of  structure  and  style  and  the  lists  of  references  have  been 

added. 

W.  T.  B. 
Columbia  University, 
March  21,  1896. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction ix 


Selections  :  — 

I.   J.  A.  Froude  :    The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Artnada  . 
II.    R.  L.  Stevenson :  Personal  Experience  and  Review 

III.  John  Morley :  Macaulay 

IV.  Matthew  Arnold  :    On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature 
V.   James  Bryce  :    The  Strength  of  American  Democracy 

VI.   John  Ruskin :    The  Croivn  of  Wild  Olive  .... 
VII.   J.  H.  Newman :    What  is  a  University  ?    .     .     .     . 


I 

49 

65 
107 

154 
172 


Notes  on  Structure: — 

I.    The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada 189 

II.   Personal  Experience  and  Review 205 

III.  Macaulay 210 

IV.  On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature 223 

V.    The  Strength  of  American  Democracy 235 

VI.    The  Crotvn  of  Wild  Olive 239 

VII.    What  is  a  University  ? 240 

General  Questions  on  Structure 241 

Bibliography  of  Structure 243 

vii 


viii  Table  of  Contents 

PAGE 

Notes  on  Style .  245 

I.    The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada 246- 

II.   Personal  Experience  and  Review 254 

III.  Macaulay 259 

IV.  On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature 266 

V.    The  Strength  of  American  Democracy 269 

VI.    The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive 271 

VII.    What  is  a  University  ? 276. 

General  Suggestions  for  the  Study  of  Style 279 

Bibliography  of  Style <  279. 


INTRODUCTION 


After  many  years  of  experiment  in  adapting  the  older 
system  of  rhetorical  training  to  the  changed  circumstances 
of  modern  American  life,  the  main  principles  underlying  the 
study  of  Rhetoric  and  English  composition  in  schools  and 
colleges  seem  at  last  to  be  fairly  determined  and  accepted. 
These  principles  concern  the  place  of  the  study  of  composi- 
tion in  our  system  of  education  and  the  method  by  which 
it  is  to  be  conducted.  English  composition,  we  are  agreed, 
is  a  study  which  must  begin  early  in  the  course  of  a  child's 
training,  in  the  form  of  simple  grammatical  instruction  and 
of  practice  in  writing;  the  development  of  the  power  of 
expression  must  be  regarded  as  of  primary  importance ;  the 
pupil  must  not  be  crammed  with  knowledge  in  the  form 
of  rules  and  exceptions,  but  rather  led  gently  though  firmly, 
by  divers  ways  and  means,  to  acquire  (perhaps  without  know- 
ing how  he  has  acquired  it)  the  power  of  expressing  himself 
simply  and  clearly,  in  accordance  with  the  accepted  con- 
ventions of  grammar  and  idiom.  This  accordance  with  the 
accepted  conventions  of  grammar  and  idiom  —  correctness  — 
is  the  main  aim  of  secondary  school  instruction  in  composition. 

In  the  last  years  of  high  school  or  the  first  years  of  col- 
lege work,  the  student  has  before  him  a  harder  task.  He 
must  begin  a  more  serious  and  philosophic  study  of  Rhetoric 


X  Introduction 

in  its  chief  forms,  mastering  the  theory  of  EngUsh  writing, 
so  far  as  a  definite  theory  exists  in  regard  to  it,  and  training 
himself,  by  reading  and  practice,  in  the  appreciation  of  Hter- 
ature  and  in  the  power  of  producing  sound,  sensible,  and, 
indeed,  beautiful  compositions  of  his  own,  so  far  as  his  genius 
or  his  ambition  may  permit  him.  The  first  step  in  this  more 
serious  and  philosophic  study  of  the  art  of  Rhetoric  is  the 
examination  and  analysis  of  the  more  important  theories  in 
regard  to  English  prose  —  the  principles  relating  to  the  choice 
and  use  of  words  and  to  the  chief  types  of  the  English  sen- 
tence and  the  English  paragraph.  This  ground  is  covered 
by  the  ordinary  text-book  of  Rhetoric,  and  this  study,  dry 
though  it  must  always  be,  supplies  even  the  listless  student 
with  knowledge  which  he  will  appreciate  the  value  of  in 
later  life,  and  a  training  which  is  an  important  part  of  his 
early  education. 

The  ordinary  text-book  in  Rhetoric,  however,  which  may 
be  mastered  in  a  single  term  or  a  single  year,  leaves  the 
student  only  at  the  threshold  of  the  subject.  He  is  famihar 
with  the  conventions  of  a  rhetorical  system ;  but  he  has  still 
to  test  his  system,  to  convince  himself  that  such  conventions 
are  really  important,  really  fundamental.  It  is  at  this  stage 
that  the  study  of  Rhetoric  may  well  change  its  point  of 
view,  taking  the  form  of  a  careful  analysis  of  the  essential 
characteristics  of  typical  passages  of  English  prose.  Here 
the  student  may  profit  doubly  —  by  the  results  of  his  rhetor- 
ical analysis,  and,  probably  the  larger  gain,  by  famiharity 
with  good  prose  and  by  conscious  or  unconscious  imitation 
of  its  best  qualities. 


Introduction  xi 

From  such  an  analysis  of  so-called  "  models "  of  prose 
two  advantages  may  be  derived  —  an  increased  knowledge 
and  appreciation  of  structure,  and  an  increased  knowledge 
and  appreciation  of  style.  Of  these  the  former  is  the  more 
important.  Indeed,  the  appreciation  of  order  in  the  ex- 
pression of  thought,  and  the  power  of  expressing  thought 
in  an  orderly  fashion,  is  not  only  the  chief  lesson  that 
Rhetoric  can  teach,  but  one  of  the  greatest  lessons  that  the 
college  student  can  learn.  Discipline  of  thought,  order  of 
thought  —  that  is  the  fundamental  point  in  any  education. 
The  study  of  structure  is,  moreover,  especially  important  for 
young  students  of  composition,  because  modern  notions  of 
literature  and  of  style  have  tended  too  much  to  obscure 
the  somewhat  prosaic  truth  that  a  sensible  writer  usually 
strives  above  all  else  to  present  certain  ideas  in  a  clear  and 
effective  manner,  and  that  this  aim  makes  him  careful  to 
choose,  in  the  arrangement  and  presentation  of  his  thoughts, 
a  certain  method,  by  close  attention  to  which  a  reader 
will  profit.  Far  from  profiting,  however,  by  the  close  follow- 
ing of  an  author's  line  of  thought,  the  boy  of  to-day  is  too 
apt  to  assume  that  a  writer  has  no  method,  no  line  of 
thought.  As  a  preventive  of  this  current  fallacy,  no  practice 
can  be  more  strongly  recommended  than  the  study  of  what 
I  like  to  call  "  structure." 

Style  is  obviously  a  less  tangible  thing  than  structure  and, 
unless  from  simple  points  of  view,  perhaps  too  subtle  and 
elusive  a  quality  for  the  young  student  to  submit  to  much 
analysis.  Here  the  teacher  may  easily  go  too  far,  with  the 
effect  of  encouraging  a  habit  of  over-analysis  or  of  extreme 


xii  Introduction 

artificiality  on  the  part  of  the  young  writer.  It  seems  wiser 
to  defer  any  detailed  treatment  of  style  as  one  of  the  fine 
arts  to  the  later  years  of  college  work.  Such  simple  exercises 
as  are  indicated  in  the  following  pages  may,  however,  be 
carried  on  with  profit  to  the  pupil,  and  without  fear  of  injury. 
He  will  learn  to  feel  that  there  is  something  more  in  style 
than  mere  *' mechanology,"  something  more  than  mechanical 
adjustments  of  word  to  word  and  phrase  to  phrase.  He  will 
recognize  those  elements  of  style  which  are  most  akin  to 
music  —  the  balance,  rhythm,  and  harmony  which  give  liter- 
ature much  of  its  beauty,  and  which  one  must  learn  as  a  boy 
to  appreciate  if  he  would  treasure  it  throughout  his  life  as  a 
source  of  enjoyment  and  stimulus. 

G.   R.    Carpenter. 


Sames  ^ntfjong  JFroutie 

Born  i8i8.    Died  1894 

THE  DEFEAT  OF  THE  SPANISH  ARMADA 

[The  following  selection  is  taken  from  Chapter  XXXVI.  of 
the  History  of  England  frojn  the  Fall  of  Wolsey  to  the  Defeat 
of  the  Spanish  Armada^  written  between  the  years  1856  and 
1869.     The  text  is  that  of  the  first  edition. 

Though  the  passage  here  printed  appears  without  abridg- 
ment, much  of  the  narrative  preceding  and  following  the 
account  of  the  battle  in  the  Channel  and  off  Calais,  is  of  neces- 
sity omitted.  The  extract,  however,  is  in  itself  so  complete  that 
little  introduction  is  necessary.  What  precedes  deals  with  the 
preparations  of  the  English  to  receive  the  Armada,  the  uncer- 
tainty and  alarm  in  the  country,  the  vacillating  policy  of  the 
Queen,  and  the  constancy  of  the  admirals  in  the  face  of  a 
policy  which  allowed  a  comparatively  small  number  of  small 
ships  to  take  the  sea  ill-supplied  with  food,  and  with  sailors  half- 
starved,  against  a  force  double  their  strength.  What  follows 
takes  up  the  niggardly  treatment  which  the  sailors  and  even  the 
admirals  received  on  their  return  from  the  chase  of  the  Armada ; 
and  the  chapter  closes  with  a  long  and  detailed  account  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  Spanish  in  the  autumn  voyage  round  the 
rocky  headlands  of  Scotland,  in  which  no  less  than  seventy 
vessels  and  twenty  thousand  lives  were  lost.] 

I.  Meanwhile,  the  slow,  lingering,  long  expected 
Armada  was  at  last  really  approaching.  Lisbon 
through  the  spring  months  had  been  a  scene  of 
extraordinary   confusion.      Three    nations,    Spanish, 


2  James  Anthony  Froude 

Italian,  and  Portuguese,  had  furnished  their  several 
contingents.  The  Spaniards  themselves  not  wholly- 
moulded  into  unity  —  Galicians,  Andalusians,  Cata- 
lans, Castilians,  were  divided  into  squadrons,  imper- 

5  fectly  understanding  each  other,  and  separated  by 
hereditary  feuds.  The  hidalgos  from  Valladolid  and 
Burgos,  ardent  and  enthusiastic  volunteers,  lay  in 
their  tents  surrounded  by  their  servants.  Portuguese 
and  Castilian  peasants,  not  so  enthusiastic,  and  im- 

lo  pressed  from  their  farms  to  serve,  were  kept  in  gangs 
under  guard,  lest  they  should  run  away.  Six  differ- 
ent languages  were  spoken  among  Philip's  own  free 
subjects,  and  besides  these,  there  was  a  motley  com- 
pany from  every  corner  of  the  known  world  —  galley 

IS  slaves  from  Constantinople  and  Algiers,  Jesuits  from 
Rheims,  exiled  priests,  Irish  and  English,  gathering 
like  ravens  to  the  spoil  of  the  heretics.  Lord  Bal- 
tinglass  was  there  from  the  Wicklow  hills ;  Lord 
Maxwell,  turned  now  into  Earl  of  Morton,  from  the 

20  Scotch  borders ;  Caley  O'Connor,  a  distinguished 
"murderer,"  "who  could  speak  nothing  but  his  own 
tongue ; "  and  Maurice  Fitzgerald,^  dreaming  of  the 
Desmond  coronet;  with  many  a  young  Scotch  and 
English   gentleman   besides,    who   had   listened   too 

25  ardently  to  the  preaching  of  Campian  and  Holt. 
The  faithful  of  all  countries  had  rushed  together, 
as  at  the  call  of  an  archangel,  to  take  part  in  the 
great  battle  for  the  cause  of  God  and  the  Church. 

1  Son  of  Sir  James  Fitzgerald,  who  was  killed  in  the  woods  of  Mal- 
low. —  Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  A7'mada  3 

II.    Among  these  elements  Medina  Sidonia^  kept 

such   order  as  he  could,  his  chief  difficulty 

July, 
being  to  prevent  Spaniards  and  Portuguese 

from  breaking  each  other's  heads  upon  the  quays. 
At  length  the  weary  preparations  were  completed;    5 
the  galleons  were  equipped  for  sea,  the  stores  laid 
in,  the  soldiers,  sailors,  and  volunteers  all  embarked. 
On  the  fleet  itself  the  treasures  of  the  Indian  mines 
had  for  three  years  been  freely  lavished.      In  the 
six  squadrons  there  were  sixty-five  large  ships  ;  the  10 
smallest  of  them  was  of  seven  hundred  tons ;  seven 
were  over  a  thousand,  and  the  largest.  La  Regazona, 
an    Italian,    was  thirteen  hundred.      They  were  all 
''  built  high  like  castles,"  their  upper  works  musket 
proof,  their  main  timbers  *'  four  and  five  feet  thick,"  15 
of    a   strength    it   was    fondly    supposed    which    no 
English  cannon  could  pierce.     As  a  symbol  of  the 
service    on    which    they    were    going,    and    to    se- 
cure the   guardianship    of    Heaven,  they  had  been 
baptized  after  the  celestial  hierarchy.      The  names  20 
on  both  sides,   either  by  accident  or  purpose,   cor- 
responded to  the  character  of  the  struggle;  the  St. 
Matthew,  the  St.  Philip,  the  St.  James,  the  St.  John, 
the  St.  Martin,  and  the  Lady  of  the   Rosary,  were 
coming    to    encounter    the    Victory,    the    Revenge,  25 
the    Dreadnought,    the    Bear,   the    Lion,    and    the 
Bull :    dreams    were    ranged    against    realities,    fic- 
tion against  fact,  and   imaginary   supernatural   pat- 

2  The   Duke  of  Medina   Sidonia  was   commander-in-chief  of  the 
expedition. 


4  James  Anthony  Froude 

ronage  against  mere  human  courage,  strength,  and 
determination.^ 

III.  Next  to  the  galleons,  were  four  galleasses, 
gigantic  galleys,  carrying  each  of  them  fifty  guns, 

5  four  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers  and  sailors,  and 
rowed  by  three  hundred  slaves.  In  addition  to 
these,  were  four  large  galleys,  fifty-six  armed  mer- 
chant vessels,  the  best  that  Spain  possessed,  and 
twenty  caravels  or  pinnaces  attached  to  the  larger 

lo  ships. 

IV.  The  fighting  fleet,  or  Armada  proper,  thus 
consisted  of  a  hundred  and  twenty-nine  vessels, 
seven  of  them  larger  than  the  Triumph,  and  the 
smallest  of  the  sixty-five  galleons  of  larger  tonnage 

15  than  the  finest  ship  in  the  English  navy,  except 
the  five*  which  had  been  last  added  to  it.  The 
aggregate  of  cannon  was  two  thousand  four  hundred 
and  thirty.  They  were  brass  and  iron  of  various 
sizes,  the   finest  that  the    Spanish   foundries    could 

20  produce.  The  weight  of  metal  which  they  were 
able  to  throw  exceeded  enormously  the  power  of 
the  English  broadsides.  In  compensation,  however, 
and  making  up  fortunately  for  the  imperfect  pro- 
vision allowed  by  Elizabeth,  the  supply  of  cartridges 

25  was   singularly    small.^      The   King  probably  calcu- 

3  I  owe  this  observation  to  Mr.  Motley.  —  Froude. 

*  "  The  Ark  Raleigh  and  the  Victory  of  eight  hundred  tons,  the  Bear 
and  the  Elizabeth  Jonas  of  nine  hundred,  and  the  Triumph  of  a  thou- 
sand."—  Froude,  Ch.  xxxvi. 

^"Los  dichos  navios  van  armados  con  2,431  pie^as  de  artilleria, 
1,497  ^^  bronce  de  todos  calibros  y  entre  ellas  muchos  canones  y  medias 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  5 

lated  that  a  single  action  would  decide  the  struggle, 
and  it  amounted  to  but  fifty  rounds  for  each  gun. 

V.  The  store  of  provisions  was  enormous.  It  was 
intended  for  the  army  after  it  landed  in  England, 
and  was  sufficient  to  feed  forty  thousand  men  for  5 
six  months.  The  powder  and  lead  for  small  arms 
was  also  infinite.  The  complement  of  sailors  was 
moderate  considering  the  size  and  the  number  of 
the  ships  —  all  told  they  amounted  to  no  more  than 
eight  thousand.  The  disposable  space  was  proba-  10 
bly  required  for  the  land  force  which  was  going  to 
Parma's^  assistance.  Of  soldiers,  Castilian  and  Por- 
tuguese, there  were  nineteen  thousand ;  of  gentlemen 
volunteers  a  thousand ;  six  hundred  priests,  servants, 
strangers,  and  miscellaneous  officers ;  and  two  thou-  15 
sand  men  besides,  of  not  sufficient  importance  to  be 
described  particularly  in  the  Spanish  records,  consist- 
ing of  Turks,  Jews,  Algerines,  or  heretic  Dutchmen, 
who  rowed  as  slaves  in  the  galleys  and  galleasses.^ 

culebrinas  y  las  934  de  hierro  colado  .  .  .  para  la  dicha  artilleria  se 
llevan  123,790  balas."  —  Legajos  De  Guerra,  221 :  MSS.  Simancas. — 
Froude. 

[Translation:  "These  vessels  were  armed  with  2431  pieces  of 
artillery,  1497  ^^  bronze  of  all  calibres  and  among  them  many  guns 
and  demi-culverins  and  934  of  cast  iron.  .  .  .  For  this  artillery  were 
carried  123,790  cannon  balls."] 

®  The  Prince  of  Parma  lay,  with  the  land  forces  of  the  Spanish,  at 
Dunkirk,  in  extreme  northeastern  France,  waiting  till  the  fleet  should 
have  cleared  the  Channel  before  crossing  to  England. 

■^  Much  has  been  said  of  the  bolts  and  shackles  found  in  some  of 
the  ships  that  were  taken.  It  has  been  assumed  that  they  were  in- 
tended for  English  heretics;  in  point  of  fact  they  were  no  more  than 
part  of  the  ordinary  furniture  of  all  vessels  carrying  slaves.  — Froude. 


6  James  Anthony  Fronde 

VI.    Medina  Sidonia   had   been   recommended  to 
the  command  in  chief  by  his  rank,  and  by  his  con- 
nection with  the  Princess  of  EboU ;  but  immediately 
under  him  were  the  ablest  officers  in  Philip's  domin- 
5  ions.     Martinez  de  Recalde,  Governor  of  Galicia  and 
Vice-Admiral,  was  said  to  be  the  best  seaman  that 
Spain   possessed    next    to    Santa    Cruz.      Pedro   de 
Valdez,  general  of  the  squadron  of  Andalusia,  had 
commanded  the  Spanish  fleet  on  the  coast  of  H  ol- 
io land,   when    Don    John   was    in    the    Netherlands, 
and   knew  the    English   Channel  well.      Miguel  de 
Oquendo,  who  had  the  squadron  of  Guipiscoa,  was 
a  Spanish  Philip  Sidney,  a  young  chivalrous  noble- 
man of  distinguished  promise,  who,  a  month  before 
IS  the    fleet    sailed,    had    obtained    from    the    King    a 
reluctant  permission  to  take  part  in  the  expedition. 
Among  the  other   names   of   interest   in  the  list  of 
officers   was   that    of    Hugh   de  Mongada,  chief   of 
the  galleasses,  made  remarkable  by  the  fate  which 
20  overtook  him ;  that  of  Diego  de  Pimentel,  afterwards 
Viceroy  of    Mexico ;    and  more  particularly  that  of 
the  brilliant  Don  Alonzo  da  Leyva,  who  commanded 
the   land   forces.       Born    of   a   family  who  had  for 
several  generations  been  the  terror  of  the  Mediter- 
25  ranean  corsairs,  Don  Alonzo  had  won  his  spurs  as  a 
boy  in  the  last  revolt  of  the  Moors.     Afterwards  he 
had  himself  formed  and  led  a  company  of  Spanish 
lancers,  who  fought  at  Gemblours  under  Don  John 
of  Austria,  and   on   Don   John's   death   he  was  re- 
30  moved  from  the   Netherlands,  and  put  at  the  head 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  7 

of  the  fleet  which  was  permanently  stationed  at 
Sicily.  He  was  so  celebrated  personally,  and  so 
many  attractions  combined  in  him  of  birth,  bearing, 
and  distinguished  services,  that  the  fathers  of  the 
high-born  youths  who  had  volunteered  to  accompany  5 
the  Armada,  most  of  them  committed  their  sons  to 
Da  Leyva's  special  charge. 

VII.  The  short  supply  of  cannon  cartridge  was 
one  serious  deficiency.  Masters  of  the  art  of  war 
as  the  Spaniards  believed  themselves,  and  cheap  10 
as  they  held  English  inexperience,  they  had  not  yet 
comprehended  the  exigencies  of  a  naval  engagement. 
Another  misfortune  of  even  greater  consequence  to 
them  was  the  incompetency  of  their  pilots.  The 
time  had  been  when  Spanish  seamen  knew  the  15 
intricacies  of  the  Channel  as  well  as  the  English 
themselves ;  but  since  the  capture  of  Flushing  their 
ships  of  war  had  no  longer  any  occupation  left 
them  there,  and  their  trade  had  been  left  to  the 
Dutch,  who  though  in  revolt,  still  traded  with  their  20 
ports,  supplied  them  with  salt  herrings  for  their  fast- 
ing days,  and  had  brought  to  Lisbon  from  the  Baltic 
the  hemp  and  tar  with  which  the  Armada  itself 
had  been  fitted  out.  But  though  willing  in  the 
way  of  merchandise  to  supply  the  Spaniards  with  25 
materials  of  war,  they  had  declined  to  furnish  them 
with  pilots,  and  Parma,  to  whom  Philip  wrote  in  his 
difficulty,  was  obliged  to  reply  that  the  best  sailors 
were  heretics,  and  that  in  all  the  Low  Countries  he 
w^as  unable  to  find  more  than  two  or  three  compe-  30 


8  James  Anthony  Froude 

tent  men  whom  he  could  bribe  or  force  to  take 
service  with  the  Armada.^  All  else  was  going  well. 
The  Pope  would  not  indeed  advance  a  ducat  of  his 
promised  subsidy  till  the  Spaniards  were  actually  in 

5  England ;  but  he  had  been  more  compliant  about 
the  succession,  prornising  to  leave  it  at  Philip's  dis- 
position. He  had  made  Allen  a  cardinal,  with  the 
see  of  Canterbury  in  prospect.  The  Duke  of  Man- 
tua   had    relieved    Philip's    money    difficulties,    and 

lo  Parma's  hollowed  ranks  were  filled  again  with  fresh 
recruits.  The  Prince  had  once  more  his  thirty 
thousand  Spaniards,  Germans,  Italians,  and  Wal- 
loons in  his  camp,  and  the  treaty  having  exploded 
upon   the   cautionary  towns,  he  no   longer   affected 

IS  any  kind  of  concealment.  The  quays  of  Nieuport 
and  Dunkirk  were  thronged  with  hoys  and  barges. 
The  cavalry  horses  were  stabled  in  the  towns  ready 
to  embark;  the  troops  encamped  in  the  immediate 
environs.      Artillery   stores,    platforms,    crates,    pio- 

20  neers'  tools  were  already  on  board.  The  fleet  at 
Antwerp,  though  unable  to  pass  Flushing,  yet  suc- 
ceeded   in    keeping    the    Dutch    in    check.^      They 

^  Parma  to  Philip,  May  13:  MSS.  Simancas.  —  Froude. 

^  The  situation  is  not  wholly  clear.  The  occupation  by  the  English 
of  Rushing,  ceded  to  them  in  1585,  kept  the  Spaniards  from  sailing 
down  the  Scheldt  to  the  sea.  Since  the  Spanish  fleet  could  not  leave 
Antwerp,  it  would  seem  that  the  Dutch  might  have  sailed  where  they 
chose,  in  front  of  Dunkirk  or  elsewhere,  especially  since  "  they  were 
able  to  prevent  Parma  from  making  use  of  Sluys,"  which  he  had 
captured  the  year  before  for  the  express  purpose  of  making  a  haven 
for  Spanish  vessels.  "They  "  of  the  following  sentence  probably 
refers  to  the  Dutch.     Compare  note  43. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  9 

ventured  out  occasionally  in  front  of  Dunkirk,  but 
could  not  lie  there.  When  the  crisis  actually  came 
they  had  not  a  sail  on  the  seas ;  but  they  were  able 
to  prevent  Parma  from  making  use  of  Sluys  which 
had  cost  him  so  dear  to  capture,^^  and  this  after  all  5 
was  as  much  or  more  than  Elizabeth  had  a  right 
to  expect. 

VIII.  The  Armada  was   coming   to   execute  the 
censures  of  the  Church,  and  a  spiritual  demonstra- 
tion was  prepared  to  accompany  it.     In  addition  to  10 
his  other  dignities,  the  Archbishop  elect  of  Canter- 
bury was   named  Legate  for  England,  and  he  had 
prepared  a  pastoral  letter  which  was  printed  in  Flan- 
ders, to  be  carried  over  by  Parma  and  issued  at  the 
moment  of  his  arrival.     The  burden  of  it   was   an  15 
exhortation  to  the  faithful  to  rise  in  arms  and  wel- 
come their  deliverer,  and  copies  had   been  already 
smuggled  across  the  Channel  and  distributed  through 
the  secret  agencies  of  the  Catholic  missions.      The 
style  and  substance  resembled  the  epistles  of  Pole,  20 
the  prototype  and  example  of  all  subsequent  spiritual 
incendiaries. 

IX.  The  Spanish  arms,  the  new  Legate  said, 
were  not  directed  against  his  countrymen.  Their 
sins  had  been  many,  but  the  retribution  was  to  fall  25 
only  on  the  wicked  Queen,  on  the  usurping  heretic 
Elizabeth,  the  bane  of  Christendom,  and  the  mur- 
deress of  the  souls  of  her  subjects.      Henry  VIII., 

'^^  The    Sluys  barges  had  been  carried  by  inland  canals  to  Nieu- 
port.  — Parma  to  Philip,  June  22 :  MSS.  Simancas.  —  Froude. 


lO  James  Anthony  Froude 

tyrant  as  he  was,  had  fallen  short  in  atrocity  of  his 
infamous  daughter.  Vengeance  was  falling  upon  her 
at  last.  Ruin  was  now  to  overwhelm  her,  and  the 
just  of  the  earth  would  say,  "  Lo,  this  is  she  that 
5  took  not  God  for  her  strength,  that  trusted  in  the 
multitude  of  her  riches  and  prevailed  in  her  iniqui- 
ties, but  was  struck  down  under  the  hand  of  the 
Most  High."  He  invited  the  English  nobility,  to 
whose  swords  he  said  the  defence  of   the  Church 

lo  had  been  entrusted,  to  consider  the  character  and 
condition  of  the  woman  whom  they  had  called  their 
sovereign.  She  was  born  in  adultery,  an  offspring 
of  incest,  a  declared  bastard,  incapable  of  lawfully 
succeeding.      Her  father  had  been  excommunicated 

15  and  deposed  by  the  father  of  Christendom.  Her 
mother's  mother  and  her  mother's  sister  had  been 
his  concubines.  She  had  herself  overthrown  the. 
Holy  Church,  profaned  the  sacraments,  and  torn 
God's   priests   from   the   altars   in   the   very  act   of 

-^  celebrating  the  holy  mysteries.  She  had  persecuted 
the  Catholic  gentry,  and  suppressed  the  old  nobility; 
and  had  advanced  churles  and  profligates  to  honour 
and  authority.  In  the  sees  of  the  bishops  she  had 
installed  the  scum  and  filth  of  mankind,  infamous, 

25  lascivious,  apostate  heretics.  She  had  made  England 
a  sanctuary  of  atheists  and  rebels,  and  vampire-like 
she  had  enriched  herself  and  her  servants  by  suck- 
ing the  blood  of  the  afflicted  Catholics.  Her  chief 
favourite,    whom   she   made   use   of   to   gratify   her 

30  lust,  had  murdered  his  wife,  it  was  to  be  presumed. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  ii 

with  her  knowledge  and  consent,  and  had  afterwards 
made  away  with  the  husband  of  another  lady.  Yet 
this  man,  a  mere  lecherous  minion,  she  had  made 
her  principal  minister  of  state. 

X.    In   language   which   is   better   left   unquoted,    5 
the  Cardinal  proceeded   to   describe  Elizabeth  per- 
sonally as  the  foulest  of  prostitutes  and  her  court 
as  the  vilest  of  brothels.     The  Church,  he  said,  in 
pity  had  chastised  her  offences  by  excommunication, 
but  she  had  despised  correction,  and  those  who  had  10 
been  sent  to  bring  her  to  repentance  she  had  slain 
with  the  sword,     fnnocent,  godly,  and  learned  men, 
priests  and  bishops  in  England  and  Ireland  had  been 
racked,  torn,  chained,  famished,  buffeted,  and  at  last 
barbarously  executed ;  and  fulfilling  the  measure  of  15 
her  iniquities  she  had  at  length  killed  the  anointed 
of  God,  the  Lady  Mary,^^  her  nearest  kinswoman, 
and  by  law  the  right  owner  of  her  crown.     The  exe- 
cution of  the  Church's  judgment  upon  her  had  been 
-long  deferred,  in  part  because  she  was  too  strong  to  20 
be  overthrown  by  her  subjects  alone,  without  danger 
to  the  lives  of  many  noble  and  godly  persons,  in  part 
through  the  long-suffering  and  sweet  and  fatherly 
forbearance  of   the  chief  shepherd  of   the  Church, 
who  had  persevered  in  hoping  that  she  might  be  25 
converted   from   her   evil   ways.      Seeing,    however, 
that  gentleness  had  availed  nothing,  the  Holy  Father 
had  at  length  besought  the  Princes  of  Christendom 
to  assist  him  in  the   chastisement  of   so  wicked  a 

11  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  was  beheaded  in  1587. 


12  James  Anthony  Fronde 

monster,  the  scourge  of  God,  and  shame  of  woman- 
kind. The  Most  Catholic  King^^  \^^^  accepted  the 
glorious  charge,  and  his  legions  were  about  to  ap- 
pear on  the  English  shores. 
5  XI.  *'  Me,  too,"  the  Cardinal  concluded,  '*  me,  too, 
being  of  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  his  Holiness  has 
been  pleased  to  choose  as  his  Legate,  for  the  restor- 
ing of  religion  and  the  future  ordering  of  the  realm; 
as  well  for  the  title  of  the  crown  as  for  other  causes 

lo  which  may  fall  out  between  the  Church  and  the 
Commonwealth.  His  Holiness  confirms  and  renews 
the  sentence  of  his  predecessors  against  Elizabeth. 
He  discharges  you  of  your  oath  of  allegiance.  He 
requires  you  in  the  bowels  of   Christ  no  longer  to 

15  acknowledge  her  as  your  sovereign;  and  he  expects 
all  of  you,  according  to  your  ability,  to  hold  your- 
selves ready  oii  the  arrival  of  his  Catholic  Majesty's 
powers  to  join  them.  This  if  you  do,  your  lands 
and  goods  will  be  assured  to  you.      Therefore,  my 

20  lords  and  dear  countrymen,  take  part  one  with 
another  in  this  honourable  quarrel.  If  you  remain 
still,  you  will  fall  under  the  curse  pronounced  by 
the  angel  against  the  land  of  Meroz.  You  will  be 
guilty  of  your  own  ruin,  and  of  the  blood  of  your 

:2s  people.  Above  all,  fight  not  for  a  quarrel  in  which, 
if  you  die,  you  will  incur  damnation.  In  this  the 
hour  of  wrath  upon  Elizabeth  and  her  partakers, 
fight  not  against  the  souls  of  your  ancestors,  and 
the   salvation   of   your   wives   and   children.     Fight 

12  Philip  II.,  King  of  Spain. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  13 

rather  for  God's  Church  and  the  honour  of  Eng- 
land's knighthood.  Fight  for  Christ,  for  religion, 
and  for  the  holy  sacraments  of  our  faith.  The 
prayers  of  all  Christian  people,  the  blood  of  the 
martyred  bishops,  friars,  priests,  and  laymen,  shed  s 
in  that  your  land,  cry  to  God  for  your  victory. 
The  saints  in  heaven  are  interceding  for  you.  The 
priests  on  earth  stretch  forth  their  consecrated 
hands  night  and  day  for  you.  Our  Saviour  himself 
is  among  you  in  the  blessed  sacrament.  Fear  not.  10 
The  enemy  is  falling  by  his  own  weakness.  The 
English  nation  will  turn  from  the  setting  sun,  and 
follow  no  more  the  broken  fortunes  of  a  mean  and 
filthy  woman.  The  heretics  are  but  few,  and  of  all 
men  are  most  effeminate,  most  dastardly,  least  cap-  15 
able  of  war.  The  angel  of  the  Lord  will  scatter 
them.  Take  heart.  Quit  yourselves  like  men.  I 
shall  myself  soon  be  with  you.  Each  day  appears 
a  year  to  me  till  I  enjoy  your  presence  in  the  Lord. 
"  From  my  lodging  in  the  Palace  of  St.  Peter's  at  20 

Rome, 

"This  28th  of  April,  1588, 

"The  Cardinal."  13 

^^  Admonition  to  the  Nobility  of  England,  &c.,  by  Cardinal  Allen, 
1588  :  Abridged.  The  abstract  in  the  text  gives  but  a  feeble  impression 
of  the  virulence  of  Allen's  language.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Parma, 
who  knew  what  EUzabeth's  character  really  was,  should  have  sanctioned 
its  publication.  He  had  misgivings  as  to  the  probable  conduct  of  the 
Catholics,  and  he  imagined  that  Allen's  authority  would  carry  weight 
with  them.  —  Froude. 

[Froude's  long  quotation  in  Spanish  of  the  Cardinal's  words  is 
omitted.] 


14  James  Anthony  Froude 

XII.  All  being  thus  in  order,  the  Prince  of  Parma 
ready  to  embark,  the  paternal  admonition  to  the 
English  nation  to  commit  treason  prepared  for  cir- 
culation, and   the    last  touches   added   to   the  com- 

5  pleteness  of  the  fleet  in  the  Tagus,  the  Duke  of 
Medina  Sidonia  sailed  from  Lisbon  on  the  19th- 
29th  ^^  of  May.  The  northerly  breeze  which  pre- 
vails on  the  coast  of  Portugal  was  unusually  strong. 
The   galleons   standing   high  out  of  the  water,  and 

10  carrying  small  canvas  in  proportion  to  their  size, 
worked  badly  to  windward.  They  were  three  weeks 
in  reaching  Finisterre,^^  where  the  wind  having 
freshened  to  a  gale,  they  were  scattered,  some 
standing  out  to  sea,  some  into  the   Bay  of   Biscay. 

15  Their  orders,  in  the  event  of  such  a  casualty,  had 
been  to  make  for  Ferrol.^^  The  wind  shifting  sud- 
denly to  the  west,  those  that  had  gone  into  the 
Bay  could  not  immediately  reach  it,  and  were  driven 
into  Santander.^"^    The  officers,  however,  were,  on  the 

20  whole,  well  satisfied  with  the  qualities  which  the 
ships  had  displayed.  A  mast  or  two  had  been 
sprung,  a  few  yards  and  bowsprits  had  been  carried 
away ;  but  beyond  loss  of  time  there  had  been  no 
serious  damage. 

1*  The  dates  given  throughout  the  selection  are  both  old  style  and 
new  style. 

1^  A  cape  of  northwestern  Spain  some  three  hundred  miles  north 
of  Lisbon. 

16  The  main  arsenal  town  of  extreme  northwestern  Spain  near  the 
Atlantic  Ocean  and  the  Bay  of  Biscay. 

1'^  A  port  on  the  Bay  of  Biscay  some  two  hundred  miles  east  of 
Ferrol.     Here  many  of  the  survivors  ran  in  on  their  return. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  15 

XIII.  The  weather  moderating,  the  fleet  was 
again  collected  in  the  Bay  of  Ferrol  by  the  6th- 
i6th  of  July.  All  repairs  were  completed  by  the 
iith-2ist,  and  the  next  day,  I2th-22nd,  the  Armada 
took  leave  of  Spain  for  the  last  time.  s 

XIV.  The  scene  as  the  fleet  passed  out  of  the 
harbour  must  have  been  singularly  beautiful.  It 
was  a  treacherous  interval  of  real  summer.  The 
early  sun  was  lighting  the  long  chain  of  the  Gali- 
cian  mountains,  marking  with  shadows  the  cfeft  10 
defiles,  and  shining  softly  on  the  white  walls  and 
vineyards  of  Coruna.  The  wind  was  light,  and 
falling  towards  a  calm  ;  the  great  galleons  drifted 
slowly  with  the  tide  on  the  purple  water,  the  long 
streamers  trailing  from  the  trucks,  the  red  crosses,  15 
the  emblem  of  the  crusade,  shewing  bright  upon 
the  hanging  sails.  The  fruit  boats  were  bringing 
off  the  last  fresh  supplies,  and  the  pinnaces  hasten- 
ing to  the  ships  with  the  last  loiterers  on  shore. 
Out  of  thirty  thousand  men  who  that  morning  stood  20 
upon  the  decks  of  the  proud  Armada,  twenty  thou- 
sand and  more  were  never  again  to  see  the  hills 
of  Spain.  Of  the  remnant  who  in  two  short  months 
crept  back  ragged  and  torn,  all  but  a  few  hundred 
returned  only  to  die.  25 

XV.  The  Spaniards,  though  a  great  people,  were 
usually  over  conscious  of  their  greatness,  and  boasted 
too  loudly  of  their  fame  and  prowess ;  but  among  the 
soldiers  and  sailors  of  the  doomed  expedition  against 
England,  the  national  vainglory  was  singularly  silent.  30 


1 6  James  Anthony  Froude 


They   were  the   flower   of   the   country,  culled   and 
chosen   over   the   entire   Peninsula,    and   they  were 
going  with  a  modest  nobility  upon  a  service  which 
they  knew  to  be  dangerous,  but  which  they  believed 
5  to  be  peculiarly  sacred.     Every  one,  seaman,  officer, 
and  soldier,  had  confessed  and  communicated  before 
he    went   on    board.      Gambling,  swearing,  profane 
language  of   all   kinds    had   been   peremptorily   for- 
bidden.    Private  quarrels  and  differences  had  been 
lo  made    up    or    suspended.      The    loose   women   who 
accompanied  Spanish  armies,  and  sometimes  Span- 
ish ships   to   sea,  had  been  ordered  away,  and   no 
unclean   thing   or    person    permitted    to    defile    the 
Armada ;   and   in   every   vessel,   and   in  the  whole 
15  fleet,    the    strictest   order    was    prescribed  and    ob- 
served.     Medina  Sidonia  led  the  way  in  the    San 
Martin,   showing   lights    at   night,    and    firing   guns 
,iCa>^        when  the  weather  was  hazy.     Mount's  Bay  was  to 
^'*'  be  the  next  place  of  rendezvous  if  they  were  again 

20  separated.^^ 

XVI.  On  the  first  evening  the  wind  dropped  to 
a  calm.  The  morning  after,  the  I3th-23rd,  a  fair 
fresh  breeze  came  up  from  the  south  and  south- 
west ;  the  ships  ran  flowingly  before  it ;  and  in  two 
25  days  and  nights  they  had  crossed  the  bay,  and  were 
off  Ushant.^^     The  fastest  of  the  pinnaces  was  dis- 

18  Orders  to  the  fleet  of  Spain  by  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia : 
MSS.  Domestic,  i^SS.  — Froude. 

19  An  island  a  few  miles  off  the  extreme  northwestern  coast  of  Brit- 
tany, at  the  entrance  of  the  English  Channel. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  i/ 

patched  from  thence  to  Parma,  with  a  letter  bidding 
him  expect  the  Duke's  immediate  coming.^^ 

XVII.    But  they  had  now  entered  the  latitude  of 
storms  which  through  the  whole  season  had  raged 
round  the  English  shore.     The  same  night  a  south-    s 
west  gale  overtook  them.     They  lay-to,  not  daring  to 
run  further.     The  four  galleys  unable  to  keep  the  sea 
were  driven  in  upon  the  French  coast,  and  wrecked. 
The   Santa  Ana,  a  galleon  of   eight  hundred  tons, 
went  down,  carrying  with  her  ninety  seamen,  three  lo 
hundred  soldiers,  and  fifty  thousand  ducats  in  gold.^^ 
The  weather  was  believed  to  be  under  the  peculiar 
care   of   God,   and   this  first  misfortune  was  of  evil    < 
omen  for  the  future.     The  storm  lasted  two    days, 
and  then  the  sky  cleared,  and  again  gathering  into  15 
order  they  proceeded  on  their  way.     On  the  19th- 
29th  they  were  in  the  mouth  of  the  Channel.     At 
daybreak    on    the   morning   of    the    20th-30th    the 
Lizard 22  was  under  their  lee,  and  an  English  fishing- 
boat  was  hanging  near   them,  counting   their   num-  20 
bers.     They   gave    chase;   but  the   boat  shot  away 

20  "  Cartas  del  Duque  de  Medina,  25  Julio  " :  MSS.  Simancas.  — 
Froude. 

21  "  Relacion  de  lo  succedido  a  la  Real  Armada,  etc.,  dada  por  el 
Contador  Pedro  Coco  Calderon"  :  AISS.  Simancas.  "  Legajos  de  Mar 
y  Tierra."  When  I  refer  again  to  this  singularly  interesting  narrative, 
it  will  be  under  the  title  of  Calderon.  —  Froude. 

22  A  rocky  promontory  at  the  extreme  south  of  England  not  far  from 
Land's  End.  The  Lizard  is  the  first  English  land  seen  by  the  voyager 
who  comes  up  the  Channel  from  the  southwest.  Plymouth  lies  about 
sixty  miles  further  up  the  coast.  The  battle  was  a  running  fight  from 
Plymouth  to  the  North  Sea. 


1 8  James  Anthony  Fronde 

down  wind  and  disappeared.  They  captured  an- 
other an  hour  or  two  later,  from  which  they  learnt 
the  English  fleet  was  in  Plymouth,  and  Medina 
Sidonia  called  a  council  of  war,  to  consider  whether 
s  they  should  go  in,  and  fall  upon  it  while  at  anchor. 
Philip's  orders,  however,  were  peremptory  that  they 
should  turn  neither  right  nor  left,  and  make  straight 
for  Margate  roads  and  Parma.  The  Duke  was  un- 
enterprising, and  consciously  unequal  to  his  work ; 
lo  and  already  bending  under  his  responsibilities  he 
hesitated  to  add  to  them. 

XVIII.  Had  he  decided  otherwise  it  would  have 
made  no  difference,  for  the  opportunity  was  not 
allowed  him.     Long  before  the   Spaniards  saw  the 

15  Lizard  they  had  themselves  been  seen,  and  on  the 
evening  of  the  I9th-29th,  the  beacons  along  the  coast 
had  told  England  that  the  hour  of  its  trial  was  come. 

XIX.  To  the  ships  at  Plymouth  the  news  was  as 
a  message  of  salvation.     By  thrift  and  short  rations, 

20  by  good  management,  contented  care,  and  lavish  use 
of  private  means,  there  was  still  one  week's  provisions 
in  the  magazines,  with  powder  and  shot  for  one  day's 
sharp  fighting,  according  to  English  notions  of  what 
fighting  ought  to  be.     They  had  to  meet  the  enemy, 

25  as  it  were,  with  one  arm  bandaged  ^^  by  their  own 
sovereign ;  but  all  wants,  all  difficulties,  were  for- 
gotten in  the  knowledge  that  he  was  come,  and  that 

23  The  English  fleet  had  been  sadly  crippled  by  lack  of  funds  to 
buy  ammunition  and  food  and  to  pay  the  men.  For  a  full  statement 
of  the  difficulty,  see  Froude's  account  in  the  pages  immediately  pre- 
ceding and  those  directly  following  the  present  selection. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  19 

they  could  grapple  with  him  before  they  were  dis- 
solved by  starvation.    ■ 

XX.    The  warning  light  flew  on  to  London,  swift 
messengers  galloping  behind  it.     There  was  saddling 
and  arming  in  village  and  town,  and  musters  flocking    5 
to  their  posts.     Loyal  England  forgot  its  difference 
of  creeds,  and  knew  nothing  but  that  the   invader 
was  at  the  door.     One  thing  was  wanting,  a  soldier 
to  take  the  supreme  command ;  but  the  Queen  found 
what  she  needed,  found  it  in  the  person  in  whom  in  10 
her  eyes,  notwithstanding  his  offences  in  the  Low 
Countries,  all  excellencies  were  still  combined  —  her 
own  Leicester.     Worse  appointment  could  not  possi- 
bly have  been  made;  but  even  Leicester  was  lifted      -^ 
into  a  kind  of  hero  by  the  excitement  of  the  moment.  15 
He  was  not  a  coward,  and  not  entirely  a  fool.     Til- 
bury had  been  chosen  as  the  place  where  the  force 
was  to  assemble  which  was  intended  to  cover  London. 
It  was  the  lowest  spot  where  the  Thames  could  be 
easily  crossed,  and  it  was  impossible  to  say  on  which  20 
side  of  the  river  the  enemy  might  choose  to  approach. 
Leicester  flew  at  once  to  his  post  there,  and  so  far 
had  he  fulfilled  his  duty,  that  he  had  sixteen  thousand 
men  with  him  at  Tilbury,  with  thirty  thousand  form- 
ing rapidly  in  his  rear  out  of  the  musters  of  the  mid-  25 
land  counties,  before  Parma  could  have  advanced, 
under  the  most  favourable  circumstances,  within  a 
day's  march  of  London.^* 

24  The  Armada  reached  Calais  on  Saturday,  the  27th  (August  6). 
Had  all  gone  well  Parma  might,  with  very  great  exertion,  have  crossed 


20  James  Anthony  Fronde 

XXL  Meanwhile,  on  the  night  of  the  I9th-29th, 
while  the  Armada  was  still  some  leagues  to  the 
south  of  the  Lizard,  the  wind  blowing  fresh  into 
Plymouth  Sound,  the  Queen's  ships  and  a  few  of  the 
5  privateers  were  warped  out  behind  the  shelter  of 
Mount  Edgecombe.  All  hands  went  merrily  to 
work;  vessel  after  vessel  was  brought  to  moorings 
behind  Ram  Head,  so  placed  that  they  could  fetch 
clear  to  the  sea;  and  by  Saturday  morning,  when 
lo  the  Spaniards  were  first  sighting  the  coast  of  Corn- 
wall, forty  sail  were  lying  ready  for  action  under 
the  headland. 

XXI L    The  day  wore  on;  noon  passed  and  noth- 
ing  had   been    seen.       At  length,    towards 

July  20-30. 

15  three  in  the  afternoon,  the  lookout  men  on 

the  hill  reported  a  line  of  sails  on  the  western  hori- 

on  the  following  Wednesday,  the  31st  (August  10).  His  own  letters 
prove  that  he  could  not  have  been  ready  sooner.  His  plan  was  to  land 
at  Margate,  and  even  if  he  was  unopposed  three  days  at  least  would 
have  been  required  to  move  his  army  within  thirty  miles  of  London. 
On  the  26th  of  July  (August  5),  Leicester  had  ten  thousand  men  with 
him  at  Tilbury.  There  were  nine  thousand  on  the  same  day  in  London, 
and  the  musters  of  the  midland  counties,  even  if  they  marched  no  more 
than  fifteen  miles  a  day,  must  have  joined  him  at  latest,  had  their  pres- 
ence been  required,  before  the  4th-i4th  of  August.  —  See  Leicester's 
letters  to  Walsingham  from  the  camp :  MSS.  Domestic.  Provisions 
had  been  as  little  attended  to  for  one  service  as  the  other.  When  four 
thousand  Essex  men  came  in  on  the  26th  of  July,  after  a  hot  march  of 
twenty  miles,  "there  was  neither  a  barrel  of  beer  nor  a  loaf  of  bread 
for  them."  London  happily  exerted  itself,  and  sent  stores  down  the 
river;  the  spirit  of  the  men  deserved  better  treatment.  Famished  as 
they  were,  "  they  said  they  would  abide  more  hunger  than  that  to  serve 
her  Majesty  and  the  country."  —  Leicester  to  Walsingham,  July  26- 
August  5.  —  Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  21 

zon,  the  two  wings  being  first  visible,  which  were 
gradually  seen  to  unite  as  the  center  rose  over  the 
rim  of  the  sea.  On  they  swept  in  a  broad  crescent, 
slowly,  for  the  air  was  lightfand  as  the  hulls  shewed 
clear,  it  was  seen  that  feport  had  not  exaggerated  s 
the  numbers  said  to  be  coming.  A  hundred  and 
fifty,  large  and  small,  were  counted  and  reported  to 
Lord  Howard;  a  few  stray  tenders  bound  for  Flan- 
ders having  sought  the  company  and  the  protection 
of  the  mighty  escort.  lo 

XXIII.  The  English  ships  at  once  weighed,  but 
shewed  themselves  as  ""little  as  they  could.  The 
evening  was  cloudy,  with  the  wind  hanging  to  the 
land.  It  was  growing  dusk  when  the  Armada 
opened  Plymouth,  and  then  for  the  first  time  Medina  15 
Sidonia  perceived  that  Howard  was  prepared  for 
him,  and  that  if  he  wished  it  he  could  not  enter 
the  Sound  without  an  action.  There  was  not  light 
enough  for  hirn  to  measure  his  enemy's  strength. 
He  saw  sails  passing  continually  between  his  fleet  20 
and  the  land,  and  vessels  tacking  and  manoeuvring; 
but  confident  in  his^nwrTToverpowermg  force,  he 
sent  up  signals  to  lie-to  for  the  night,  and  to  pre- 
pare for  a  general  action  at  daybreak. 

XXIV.  About  two  o'clock,  the  moon  rose  with  a  25 
clear  sky  —  a  gibbous  moon,  no  more  than  a  half 
circle,  but  by  the  light  of  it  the  Spaniards  perceived 
that  sixty  or  seventy  ships  had  glided  out  behind 
them,  and  were  hovering  at  their  rear  just  out  of 
cannon  shot.  30 


22       >  James  Anthony  Froude 

XXV.    The    dawn    was    still,   but    towards    eight 

o'clock  the  breeze  freshened  from  the  west.      The 

Armada  made  sail,  and  attempted  to  close. 

July  21-31. 

To  Medma  Sidonia's  extreme  astonishment, 
5  it  seemed  at  the  pleasure  of  the  English  to  leave 
him  or  allow  him  to  approach  them  as  they  chose. 
The  high-towered,  broad-bowed  galleons  moved  like 
Thames  barges  piled  with  hay;  while  the  sharp  low 
English  sailed  at  once  two  feet  to  the  Spaniard's  one, 

10  and  shot  away  as  if  by  magic  in  the  eye  of  the  wind. 
It  was  as  if  a  modern  steam  fleet  was  engaged  with 
a  squadron  of  the  old-fashioned  three-deckers,  choos- 
ing their  own  distance  and  fighting  or  not  fighting 
as  suited  their  convenience. 

15  XXVI.  The  action  opened  with  the  Ark  Raleigh, 
carrying  Howard's  flag,  and  three  other  English 
ships,  whose  names  the  Spaniards  did  not  know, 
running  along  their  entire  rear  line,  firing  succes- 
sively into  each  galleon  as  they  passed,  then  wear- 

20  ing   round    and    returning    over    the    same    course. 

The  San  Matteo  luffed  into  the  wind  as  far  as  she 

could,  inviting   them   to   board,  but   they  gave   her 

their  broadsides  a  second  time  and  passed  on. 

XXVII.    Astonished   and  confounded   as  well  by 

25  the  manoeuvring  as  by  the  rapidity  of  the  fire,  the 
Spanish  officers  could  not  refuse  their  admiration. 
They  knew  that  they  were  inferior  at  sea,  but  how 
inferior  they  had  not  realized.  The  English  were 
firing  four   shots   to   one,  and  with   a   fresh  breeze 

30  even  the  galleasses  could   not  touch   them.      Such 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  23 

artillery  practice  and  ships  so  handled  had  never 
been  seen.^  Alonzo  da  Leyva  in  the  huge  Rata 
attempted  to  cross  the  Ark  Raleigh.  Howard  kept 
away  as  if  to  meet  him,  but  ran  by,  again  fired 
into  the  San  Matteo,  which  was  lying  head  to  wind  5 
unable  to  move,  and  swept  on  upon  his  way. 

XXVIII.    The  rest  of  the  English  ships  were  now 
engaged  on  the   same  conditions.     The  action  con- 
tinued  through   the  whole  forenoon,  the    Spaniards 
making   efforts   to  close  and  always  failing.      Con-  10 
scious     of     their     disadvantage,    they    still    fought 
bravely.     **  So  far  as  we  see,"  wrote  Drake,  "  they 
mean  to  sell  their  lives  with  blows."  ^      But  they 
had  been  flurried  and  surprised.     Being  to  leeward, 
and  leaning  over  to  the  wind,  their  shots  had  flown  15 
high,  and    had    scarcely  touched  the    English  ships 
at  all,  while  they  had  themselves  suffered  consider- 
ably.     The    Biscayan  flag-ship,  the  San  Juan,  had 
her  mizzen-mast  shot   through  in  two  places,  many 
spars    carried    away,    the    captain     wounded,    and  20 
fifteen    men    killed.      Oquendo    had    specially    dis- 
tinguished himself,  being  present  wherever  the  dan- 
ger was   greatest,  driving   back  into  actions  vessels 
which  were  inclined  to  flinch ;  but  as  the  wind  held 
neither  he  nor   any  one  could  change  the  fortunes  25 
of    the    day,  or    enable    the    Spaniards    to  hurt   an 

25  « ]y[^y  i^jgfj  artillados  y  marinades  y  veleados."  —  Calderon.  — 
Froude. 

25  Drake  to  Lord  Henry  Seymour,  July  21:  MSS,  Domestic. — 
Froude, 


24  Ja7nes  Anthony  Fronde 

enemy  whom  they  could  not  touch ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  EngHsh  fleet  coming  out  of  the  harbour, 
Medina  Sidonia  signalled  to  make  sail  up  Channel, 
Martinez  de  Recalde  covering  the  rear  with  the 
5  squadron  of  Biscay. 

XXIX.  The  wind  was  now  rising,  and  promised 
a  squally  evening.  A  fast  boat  was  sent  on  with 
letters  to  Lord  Henry  Seymour  reporting  progress 
so    far,  and   bidding    him    prepare   in    the    Downs. 

lo  An  express  went  to  London,  begging  for  an  instant 
supply  of  ammunition;  and  while  Drake  went  in 
pursuit  of  a  detachment  which  appeared  to  be 
parted  from  the  main  Spanish  fleet,  and  proved 
only  to  be  the  Flemish  traders,  Howard  hung  upon 

15  Recalde,  sparing  his  powder  but  firing  an  occasional 
shot  to  prevent  the  enemy  from  recovering  from 
their  confusion. 

XXX.  The  misfortunes  of  the  first  day  were  not 
yet  over. 

20  XXXL  Afraid  to  spread  lest  any  of  them  should 
be  cut  off,  the  different  squadrons  huddled  together. 
A  rolling  sea  came  up  from  the  west,  and  as  even- 
ing fell,  the  Capitana,  of  the  Andalusian  division,  a 
galleon  of    twelve   hundred   tons,  carrying  the  flag 

25  of  Pedro  de  Valdez,  fouled  the  Santa  Catalina,  and 
broke  her  bowsprit.  The  forestays  parted  and  the 
foremast  fell  overboard,  and  the  ship,  hampered  by 
the  wreck,  dropped  behind.  Don  Pedro  fired  a 
distress  gun,  and  two  of  the  galleasses  came  to  his 

30  assistance,  and   tried   to   take   him  in  tow,  but   the 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  25 

waves  were  running  so  high  that  the  cable  broke. 
Don  Pedro  was  the  only  high  officer  in  the  fleet 
who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  Channel.  He 
was  himself  of  more  importance  than  his  ship,  and 
the  Duke  dispatched  boats  to  bring  him  off  with  5 
his  crew.  But  he  would  not  leave  his  charge,  and 
he  was  left  to  his  fate.  It  was  almost  dark.  How- 
ard, believing  the  wreck  to  be  deserted,  did  not  stay 
for  her,  and  went  on  in  pursuit.  A  London  priva- 
teer hung  behind  at  her  side  till  midnight,  exchang-  10 
ing  occasional  shots  with  her,  and  sometimes  hearing 
voices  calling,  but  ''the  wind  and  sea  being  very 
great,"  the  words  could  not  be  distinguished.  Drake 
returning  from  his  chase,  came  up  with  her  in  the 
morning.  She  struck  her  flag,  and  he  took  her  15 
with  him  to  Torbay,^''  where  he  left  her  to  the  care 
of  the  Brixham  fishermen,  and  himself  hastened 
after  the  Admiral,  carrying  on  with  him  De  Valdez 
and  the  other  officers.  The  prize  proved  of  unex- 
pected value.  Many  casks  of  reals  were  found  in  20 
her,  and  infinitely  more  important,  some  tons  of 
gunpowder,  with  which  the  Roebuck,  the  swiftest 
trawler  in  the  harbour,  flew  in  pursuit  of  the  fleet.^^ 

2"  A  town  some  thirty  miles  east  of  Plymouth.  Some  notion  can  be 
had  of  the  speed  of  the  running  fight  up  the  Channel. 

2^  The  prisoners  were  a  serious  embarrassment  to  the  Torbay  magis- 
trates. So  sharp  an  account  was  likely  to  be  demanded  of  the  prop- 
erty found  in  the  ship  that  they  did  not  venture,  without  permission,  to 
feed  them  on  the  stores  which  they  had  brought  with  them.  Foreign- 
ers, who  could  speak  no  English,  were  looked  on  as  no  better  than 
savages.  "The  cost  of  keeping  them  was  great,  the  peril  great,  the 
discontent  of  the  country  people  greatest  of  all,"  and  had  the  rough 


26  James  Anthony  Froude 

XXXII.  Two  hours  after  the  accident  to  the 
Andalusian  Capitana,  another  disaster  overtook  the 
July  22-  galleon  of  Oquendo.  He  was  himself  appar- 
August  I,   entiy  not  on  board  at  the  time.     The  officers, 

5  impatient  and  irritated  at  the  results  of  the  action, 
were  quarrelling  with  themselves  and  one  another. 
The  captain  struck  the  master  gunner  with  a  stick. 
The  master  gunner,  who  was  a  German,  went  below 
in  a  rage,  thrust  a  burning  linstock  into  a  powder- 

lo  barrel,  and  sprung  through  a  port-hole  into  the  sea. 
The  deck  was  blown  off  from  stem  to  stern.  Two 
hundred  seamen  and  soldiers  were  sent  into  the  air ; 
some  fell  into  the  water  and  were  drowned ;  some 
scorched  or  mutilated  dropped  back  into  the  wreck. 

15  The  ship,  which  was  also  one  of  the  largest  in  the 
fleet,  was  built  so  strongly  that  she  survived  the 
shock  and  floated,  and  her  masts  still  stood.  The 
flash  was  seen.  The  Duke  sent  boats  to  learn  what 
had  happened  and  to  save  the  men.     The  officers 

20  and  the  few  who  were  unhurt  were  taken  off;  but 
there  were  no  means  of  removing  the  wounded. 
They,  too,  were  abandoned  therefore,  to  be  picked 
up  at  daylight  by  the  English  and  sent  on  shore, 

and  ready  Devonshire  clowns  acted  on  their  own  judgment,  they  would 
have  solved  the  difficulty  expeditiously  after  their  own  fashion.  Prison- 
ers of  war  who  could  pay  no  ransom,  found  nowhere  very  gentle  treat- 
ment in  the  sixteenth  century.  Ultimately  some  of  them  were  sent  to 
Exeter  gaol,  some  of  them  were  confined  in  a  barn  at  Tor  Abbey,  some 
on  board  their  own  ship;  and,  "to  save  expense,  they  were  fed  on  the 
refuse  of  their  own  provisions,  which  was  too  bad  to  be  taken  away, 
the  fish  stinking,  and  the  bread  full  of  worms."  —  Gilbert  to  Walsing- 
ham,  July  26-August  5  :  MSS.  Domestic,  —  Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  27 

where  the  disabled  were  kindly  treated.  The  hull 
was  still  worth  rifling.  It  contained  money  like  all 
the  rest  of  the  ships,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  hold 
there  were  powder  barrels  which  had  escaped  the 
explosion.  s 

XXXIII.  Lord  Howard  was  supplying  his  worst 
deficiencies  out  of  the  enemy's  own  resources,  and 
wringing  from  themselves  the  means  of  completing 
their  destruction.  After  a  wild  night,  the  morning 
broke  fine  and  still.  10 

XXXIV.  The  wind  had  shifted  with  the  dawn, 
and  a  light  air  was  now  coming  up  from  the  east. 
The  Armada  was  off  Portland ;  '^  the  English  three 
or  four  miles  to  the  west ;  both  fleets  lying  motion- 
less in  the  calm,  and  rising  and  falling  to  the  swell.  15 
Howard  being  now  to  leeward,  had  lost  his  advan- 
tage of  the  day  before.  Sidonia,  had  he  wished  it, 
might  have  forced  another  engagement  with  fairer 
chances  in  his  favour,  but  he  preferred  to  rest  his 
shaken  crews,  and  give  them  breathing-time  to  re-  20 
cover  their  confidence.  He  dispatched  a  second 
letter  to  the  Prince  of  Parma,  describing  his  position 
and  relating  his  adventures.  He  made  the  best  of 
what  had  befallen  him,  and  concluded,  on  the  whole, 
that  the  English  were  afraid  of  him,  because  they  25 
had  declined  to  close ;  but  he  was  evidently  ex- 
tremely anxious.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  coast. 
He  begged  Parma  most  earnestly*  to  send  him 
pilots :    and  he  confessed  himself  at  an  entire  loss 

29  About  seventy-five  miles  east  by  north  from  Plymouth. 


28  James  Anthony  Proude 

what  to  do  or  where  to  go  if  he  was  overtaken  by 
a  storm. ^^ 

XXXV.  In    the    Channel,    during    fine    summer 
weather,  the  wind,  as  the  fishermen  say,  goes  round 

5  with  the  sun.     It  blows  sometimes  freshly  from  the 

north-east  in  the  morning;  it  drops  to  the  south  at 

noon ;  to  south-west  in  the  afternoon ;  and  so,  falling 

calm  at  sunset,  rises  again  at  night  from  the  north. 

Sidonia  knew  nothing  of  these  local  pecul- 

Tuesday,     ,      ^  ^  ^  ^ 

lo  July  23-  iarities  ;  the  next  morning  the  relative  posi- 
tions of  the  fleets  remaining  unchanged,  and 
finding  himself  to  windward,  he  bore  down  upon 
Howard,  with  a  steady  easterly  breeze,  to  offer 
battle.     The  English   headed  out  towards  the  sea. 

15  He  supposed  that  they  were  flying,  and  though  he 
could  not  overtake  them,  was  tempted  to  give  chase. 
The  galleons,  though  bad  sailers  all,  were  of  unequal 
slowness.  The  San  Marcos  outsailed  the  rest,  and 
was   led   far  beyond    her    consorts   in   the   pursuit. 

20  When  the  breeze  headed  round  as  usual.  Lord 
Howard  was  now  to  windward  of  her,  while  she 
was  herself  several  miles  to  windward  of  her  con- 
sorts, and  beyond  reach  of  help  from  them. 

XXXVI.  The  object  of  the  English  was  to  avoid 
25  a  general  engagement,  and  especially  to  avoid  com- 
ing to  close  quarters,  where  the  enemy  would  be  on 
more  equal  terms  with  them;  outnumbered  as  they 
were,  and  short  of  powder,  their  plan  was  to  make 

^^  Medina  Sidonia  to  the  Duke  of  Parma,  July  22-August  i :  MSS, 
Simancas.  —  Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  29 

the  best  of  their  superiority  as  sailors,  and  wound 
and  injure  as  many  of  the  galleons  as  possible,  with 
least  damage  to  themselves.  The  San  Marcos  was 
instantly  set  upon.  She  defended  herself  with  ex- 
treme courage,  and,  as  the  Spaniards  thought,  with  5 
no  less  skill.  She  fought  single-handed  for  an  hour 
and  a  half,  firing  what  they  considered  the  unexam- 
pled number  of  eighty  shots,  and  receiving  five 
hundred.  Oquendo  came  at  last  to  the  rescue,  and 
the  action  off  Plymouth  having  almost  exhausted  10 
his  stock  of  powder,  and  the  Brixham  sloop  not 
having  yet  overtaken  him,  Howard  was  obliged  to 
draw  off  till  he  could  be  relieved  from  the  shore.^^ 
Sidonia,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  his  retreat,  believed 
that  he  had  been  worsted  by  the  San  Marcos  alone,  15 
and  that  if  the  galleasses  had  gone  into  the  action, 
as  they  might  and  ought  to  have  done,  they  would 
have  won  a  signal  victory.^ 

XXXVII.  A  stray  Venetian  had  been  meanwhile 
taken  by  the  privateers,  with  one  or  two  other  small  20 
vessels,  and  carried  into  Weymouth.  The  news 
that  the  Spaniards  were  in  the  Channel  had  by  this 
time  penetrated  into  every  corner  of  the  country, 
and  the  patriotic  heart  of  England  was  on  fire.  The 
Oxford  High  Church  students  who  were  training  25 
for  the  College  at  Rheims;   the   young  ladies  and 

^1  Diary  of  Sir  John  Hawkins,  July  and  August,  1588:  MSS. 
Domestic.  —  Froude. 

32  Medina  Sidonia  to  Don  Hugo  de  Mon9ada,  July  23-August  2 : 
MSS,  Simancas.  —  Froude, 


30  James  Anthony  Froude 

gentlemen  who  had  given  their  consciences  in  charge 
to  the  Jesuit  missionaries,  who,  if  they  admitted  that 
they  were  EngHsh,  yet  called  themselves  in  prefer- 
ence   Catholics  —  first    Catholic    and    only    English 

5  afterwards  —  these,  it  might  be,  were  like  Lord 
Arundel  in  the  Tower,  beseeching  Heaven  for  their 
country's  fall;  but  the  robust  heart  of  the  nation 
laid  aside  its  quarrels  of  opinion  in  the  presence 
of  danger  to  England's  independence.     Had  Mary 

lo  Stuart  lived,  had  James  of  Scotland  been  a  Catholic, 
and  had  the  Spaniards  come  with  no  other  purpose 
but  to  place  him  on  the  throne  of  Elizabeth,  the 
admonition  of  Allen  might  have  found  some,  though 
not   even  then  perhaps  a  general,   response.      But 

15  Philip  had  chosen  to  present  himself  as  meaning, 
under  the  mask  of  religion,  to  make  England  a 
dependency  of  Spain ;  and,  in  the  face  of  so  hateful 
a  possibility,  Cliffords,  and  Veres,  and  Percys  took 
their  places  beside  the  Raleighs  and  the  Cecils  of 

20  the  new  era;  and  from  Lyme,  and  Weymouth,  and 
Poole,  and  the  Isle  of  Wight,  young  lords  and  gen- 
tlemen came  streaming  out  in  every  smack  or  sloop 
that  they  could  lay  hold  of,  to  snatch  their  share  of 
danger  and  glory  at  Howard's  side.     The  strength 

25  which  they  were  able  to  add  was  little  or  nothing ; 
but  they  brought  enthusiasm,  they  brought  to  the 
half-starved  and  neglected  crews  the  sense  that  the 
heart  of  England  was  with  them,  and  transformed 
every  common  seaman  into  a  hero.     On  the  Tuesday 

30  evening  after  the  fight,  Medina  Sidonia  counted  a 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  31 

hundred  sail  behind  him,  and  observed,  with  some 
uneasiness,  that  the  numbers  were  continually  in- 
creasing. 

XXXVIII.    Wednesday  was  again  calm.     Neither 
shot   nor  powder   had   yet   arrived,  though  express    5 
after  express  had  been  sent  for  it.     No  risk  might 
be   ventured,    and   the    English   lay   now   six   miles 
from   the    Armada   waiting   till   their  maga-  juiy24- 
zines  were  refilled.      The  Duke,    supposing  ^^^e^sta. 
them   to   be   afraid,    sent   Don    Hugo   de    Mongada  10 
with  the  galleasses  to  engage.      On  that  day  there 
was  not  a  breath  of  wind  of  any  kind,  and  the  gal- 
leasses had   them  at   some  advantage.      There  was 
no   serious    loss    however;    that    night    ammunition 
came   sufficient   for   one   more    day's    fighting,    and  15 
Sir  George  Carey,  who   had   run    out   from   behind 
the    Isle   of   Wight   in  a  pinnace,  to   see  what  was 
ffoinsf    on,    found    himself,  at    five    in    the 

^        ^  '  '  Thursday, 

morning,  **in  the  midst  of  round  shot,  fly-   juiyas- 
ing  as  thick  as   musket-balls  in  a  skirmish     ^^^^  ^'    20 
on   land."  ^     The   night   had   been   still   and   dark. 
With  the  first  light,  the  Spaniards  saw  two  of  their 
stor^-vessels,  loaded    with    provisions,   being    towed 
away  by  some  English  launches.     The  wind  rising, 
Alonzo  da  Leyva  in  the  Rata,  with  two  galleasses,  25 
which   had   taken    Recalde's   place   in   the   rear,   at 
once   started   in   pursuit.      The   main   body   of  the 
Armada    lying    open,    and    the    San    Martin    with 

33  Sir  George  Carey  to ,  July  25-August  4 :  MSS.  Domestic.  — 

Froude. 


32  James  Anthony  Fronde 

Sidonia's  own  flag  being  clearly  distinguishable, 
Howard  for  the  first  time  determined  to  try  a  close 
engagement. 

XXXIX.    It  was  a  day  of  special   distinction  for 

5  the  Howard  family.  He  took  his  cousin  Lord 
Thomas  with  him  in  the  Lion,  his  two  sons-in-law, 
Lord  Sheffield  and  Sir  R.  Southwell,  in  the  Bear 
and  the  Elizabeth  Jonas,  and  with  his  own  and  one 
other   ship,  the  Victory,  under   Captain    Barker,  he 

lo  went  straight  into  the  centre  of  the  Armada,  steering 
direct  for  the  San  Martin  herself,  and  exchanging 
broadsides  at  speaking  distance  with  every  galleon 
that  he  passed.  Oquendo,  sure  to  be  found  where 
the  hardest  blows  were  going,  threw  himself  across 

IS  the  Ark  Raleigh's  course  before  she  could  reach  the 
San  Martin.  The  Ark  ran  into  him,  and  two  sol- 
diers on  his  forecastle  were  killed  by  the  shock ; 
but  the  Ark's  rudder  was  unshipped ;  she  cleared 
herself    of    her   enemy,    but   dropped  away  for   the 

20  moment  unmanageable  to  leeward,  and  was  imme- 
diately surrounded  by  a  number  of  galleons,  which 
attempted  to  close  with  her.  In  an  instant  her  own 
boats  had  her  in  tow ;  her  sails  filled  as  they  pulled 
her  head  round,  and  when  the  galleons  had  assured 

25  themselves  of  their  prize,  she  slipped  away  between 
them  so  fast,  that  a  Spanish  spectator  says,  "  though 
the  swiftest  ships  in  the  whole  Armada  pursued 
her,  they  seemed  in  comparison  to  be  at  anchor."^ 

34  «  Se  fue  saliendo  con  tanta  velocidad  que  el  galeon  San  Juan  de 
Fernando  y  otro  ligerisimo,  con  ser  los  mas  veleros  de  la  Armada  que 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  33 

XL.  The  action  continued  afterwards  for  several 
hours.  The  English  had  not  suffered  at  all.  Hardly 
a  man  had  been  wounded.  But  neither  had  they  any 
captures  to  boast  of.  Calderon  ^^  leaves  it  uncertain 
whether  Da  Leyva  recovered  the  store-ships ;  the  s 
English  writers  do  not  mention  having  taken  them. 
The  only  visible  result  had  been  the  expenditure  of 
powder.  But  the  invisible  result  to  the  Armada  had 
been  far  more  serious.  The  four  feet  of  timber  had 
been  no  defence  against  the  English  shot.  The  sol-  10 
diers  had  been  sent  below  for  security,  and  the  balls 
ripping  through  the  oak,  had  sent  the  splinters  flying 
among  them  like  shell.  Many  had  been  killed,  many 
more  had  been  wounded ;  masts,  yards,  rigging,  all 
had  suffered.  They  had  expected  that  one  engage-  15 
ment  would  annihilate  the  power  of  their  enemies, 
and  battle  followed  upon  battle,  and  there  was  as 
yet  no  sign  of  an  end.  They  began  to  be  afraid  of 
the  English.  There  was  something  devilish  in  the 
rapid  manoeuvres  of  their  ships  and  the  torrents  of  20 
shot  which  plunged  into  their  tall  sides,  while  their 
own  flew  wild  and  harmless.  Their  ammunition,  too, 
slowly  as  they  had  fired,  was  giving  out  as  well  as 
the  English,  and  it  was  less  easy  for  them  to  supply 
themselves.  The  Duke  resolved  to  fight  no  more  25 
if  he  could  help  it,  and  to  make  the  best  of  his  way 

le  fueron  dando  ca^a  en  comparacion,  se  quedaron  surtos  "  :    Calderon. 
—  Froude. 

^  Don  Pedro  Coco  Calderon,  the  purser  of  the  fleet,  was  one  of  the 
few  who  returned  to  Spain. 
D 


34  James  Anthony  Froude 

to  the   Prince  of   Parma,  to  whom  he  again  wrote, 
without  attempting  to  conceal  his  perplexities. 

XLI.    "The  enemy  pursue  me,"  he  said.     "They 
fire  upon  me  most  days  from  morning  till  nightfall ; 

5  but  they  will  not  close  and  grapple.  I  have  given 
them  every  opportunity.  I  have  purposely  left  ships 
exposed  to  tempt  them  to  board ;  but  they  decline 
to  do  it,  and  there  is  no  remedy,  for  they  are  swift 
and  we  are  slow.     They  have  men  and  ammunition 

lo  in  abundance,  while  these  actions  have  almost  con- 
sumed ours ;  and  if  these  calms  last,  and  they  con- 
tinue the  same  tactics,  as  they  assuredly  will,  I  must 
request  your  Excellency  to  send  me  two  shiploads 
of  shot  and  powder  immediately.     I  am  in  urgent 

15  need  of  it.  I  trust  to  find  you  ready  on  my  arrival 
to  come  out  and  join  me.  If  the  wind  is  fair  we 
shall  soon  be  with  you ;  but,  any  way,  whether  we 
are  detained  or  not,  we  cannot  do  without  ammuni- 
tion.    You  must  send  me  as  much  as  you  can  spare."  ^ 

20  XLI  I.  The  day  following,  Friday,  the  Duke  was 
allowed  a  respite.  The  fine  weather  continued,  and 
July  26-  ^^  Spaniards  inclined  away  towards  the 
Augusts.  cQast  of  France,  while  Howard  bore  up  for 
Dover,^^  for  the  supplies  of  all  kinds  which  he  so 

25  frightfully  needed.  The  Earl  of  Sussex,  who  was 
in  command  at  the  castle,  gave  him  all  the  powder 


86  Medina  Sidonia  to  the  Duke  of  Parma,  July  25-August  4 :  MSS. 
Simancas. 

87  The  principal  seaport  of  southeast  England  and  the  one  nearest 
France.    The  fight  had  now  nearly  reached  the  North  Sea. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  35 

that  he  had.  The  stores  came  in,  which  had  been 
taken  from  the  prizes  :  every  barrel  of  powder,  every 
shot  whether  of  stone  or  iron,  having  been  first  care- 
fully registered  for  the  severe  account  which  it  was 
known  that  the  Queen  would  demand.  The  vict-  5 
uallers  had  not  arrived,  but  were  supposed  to  be  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Thames ;  and  having  obtained  as 
much  as  he  could  get,  if  less  than  he  wanted,  How- 
ard returned  in  the  evening  to  his  place  in  the  rear 
of  the  Armada.  10 

XLIII.    On  Saturday  the  weather  broke.      After 
less  than  a  week  of  calm  and  sunshine,  squalls  and 
driving   showers    again    came   up    from    the  juiyay- 
westward.     The  Armada  was  then  off  Bou-  -^"s^^ste. 
logne,  the  English  fleet  a  league  behind  it.      The  15 
Duke,  with  the  prospect  of  a  rising  sea,  without  pilots 
who  knew  the  coast,  afraid  of  the  Downs  for  fear  of 
the  Goodwin  Sands,  and  of  Margate,  on  account  of 
the   banks    and  shoals  in  the  mouth  of   the   river, 
determined  to  bring  up  in  Calais  Roads,^  and  wait  20 
there  till  Parma  was  ready.     The  wind  was  to  the 
west  of  south,  and  as  long  as  it  held  in  that  quar- 
ter the  roadstead  was  tolerably  secure.     Coming  up 
with  a  rising  tide,  he  let  fall  his  anchors  suddenly, 
hoping  that  his  pursuers  would  be  unprepared,  and  25 
would  be  swept  past  him:   but  his  movements  had 
been   watched   by   eyes   which   were    skilful   to   in- 

2^  Off  the  northeastern  coast  of  France,  just  beyond  the  Straits  of 
Dover,  some  twenty  miles  west  of  Dunkirk,  and  a  half  day's  sail  east 
of  Boulogne, 


36  James  Anthony  Fronde 

terpret  them.  The  English  anchors  fell  simulta- 
neously with  his  own  two  miles  astern,  and  the  two 
fleets  lay  watching  each  other,  almost  within  cannon 
shot  of  the  shore.^^ 
5  XLIV.  There  were  still  some  hours  of  daylight 
remaining,  and  M.  Gourdain,  the  governor  of  Calais, 
drove  down  with  his  wife  to  the  parade,  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  a  battle.*^  The  Duke  sent  an  officer  on 
shore,  to  intimate  his  arrival,  and  request  the  hos- 

10  pitalities  of  the  port,  while  a  boat  went  on  to  Dun- 
kirk with  another  dispatch  to  the  Prince. 

XLV.  It  was  brief,  uneasy,  and  impatient :  Sido- 
nia  was  irritated  at  finding  no  answer  to  his  for- 
mer letters.      He  again  confessed  himself  helpless 

15  against  the  repeated  assaults  of  the  enemy.  He 
trusted  Parma  was  ready  to  cross.  If  not,  and  if 
there  was  to  be  more  delay,  he  begged  him  to  send 
immediately  thirty  or  forty  flyboats  or  gunboats, 
which   could  move    quickly,  and   keep  the   English 

20  at  bay.  He  was  uncomfortable  at  the  position  of 
the  fleet,  and  painfully  anxious  to  remove  to  some 
more  secure  anchorage.*^ 

XLVI.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  Prince  had 
not  been  idle.     His  expenses  were  so  enormous  that 

25  he  had  been  once  more  in  extremity  for  money  — 

89  R.  Tomson  to  Walsingham,  July  30-August  9 :  MSS.  Domestic. 
—  Froude. 

^  "  Hallole  con  su  muger  en  un  coche  k  la  marina,  esperando  ver  si 
se  daba  la  batalla. "  —  Calderon.  —  Froude. 

*i  Medina  Sidonia  to  the  Prince  of  Parma,  July  27-August  6 :  MSS. 
Simancas.  —  Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  37 

his  army  had  been  in  as  bad  a  case  as  the  EngHsh 
fleet  at  Plymouth,  and  at  the  point  of  breaking  up 
through  famine.*^  He  had  kept  his  men  together 
only  by  the  expectation  of  the  supplies  which  were 
coming  with  the  fleet.  Medina  Sidonia's  letters  had  5 
reached  him  one  after  the  other,  and  the  troops 
were  in  perfect  readiness  to  go  on  board  the  trans- 
ports. The  officer  who  came  from  Calais  expressed 
impatience  that  they  were  not  already  embarked. 
The  Duke,  it  seems,  had  expected  that  Parma  would  10 
have  met  him  on  the  sea,  and  that  they  could  fight 
the  English  with  their  united  force.  He  explained 
that  this  was  totally  impossible.  To  come  out  while 
the  enemy's  fleet  was  undispersed  would  be  certain 
destruction.  His  transports  could  not  protect  them-  15 
selves.  The  Armada  must  clear  the  Channel,  and 
weather  permitting,  he  was  then  prepared  to  fulfil 
his  Majesty's  commands.  As  to  sending  gunboats  to 
protect  Medina  Sidonia,  he  could  not  do  it,  for  he  had 
none  belonging  to  him.  Medina  Sidonia  must  pro-  20 
tect  him.  Ammunition  he  would  provide,  "  so  far  as 
his  own  penury  would  allow." 

XLVn.  That  the  majestic  fleet  which  was  to  over- 
whelm opposition  should  arrive  at  the  scene  of  action 
so  helpless  as  itself  to  require  assistance,  was  not  25 
particularly  encouraging.  Parma,  however,  promised 
that  his  army  should  go  on  board  immediately.  He 
would  be  ready,  he  said,  by  the  middle  of  the  follow- 

*2  "  A  pique  de   deshacerse  de  pura  necesidad."  —  El  Duque   de 
Parma  al  Rey,  10-20  Julio  :  MS.  Ibid.  —  Froude. 


38  James  Anthony  Fronde 

ing  week.  He  admitted  that  the  Armada  must  not 
remain  a  day  longer  than  necessary  in  Calais  Roads, 
and  was  as  anxious  as  the  Duke  could  be  to  see  it  in 
some  better  shelter.     Only  he  reiterated — and  as  the 

5  Duke  was  evidently  unconvinced,  he  sent  a  special 
messenger  to  Philip  to  insist  upon  it  —  that  to  risk 
his  barges  in  a  naval  engagement  would  be  simple 
madness.  They  could  not  encounter  even  the  slight- 
est roll  of  the  sea,  and  if  there  was  no  enemy  to  fear, 

10  could  only  pass  safely  in  a  calm.^ 

XLVIII.  Parma's  answer  did  not  diminish  Medina 
Sidonia's  uneasiness.  More  than  half  of  his  shot  was 
expended;  and  with  the  enemy's  fleet  so  near,  the 
promised  supply  from  Dunkirk  could  not  easily  reach 

15  him.  On  the  night  of  his  arrival,  too,  the  few  Flem- 
ish pilots  that  he  had  slipped  overboard  in  the  dark- 
ness, stole  the  cock-boats,  set  their  shirts  for  sails  and 

*3  [The  long  quotation  in  Spanish  of  the  letter  from  Parma  to  Philip 
is  omitted.]  Parma's  words  shew  clearly,  if  proof  were  wanted,  that  it 
was  not  the  presence  of  the  Dutch  which  prevented  him  from  coming 
out.  The  words  "  el  Armada  enemiga  "  refer  exclusively  to  the  Eng- 
lish. Pie  never  speaks  of  the  Dutch  by  the  honourable  title  of  enemies. 
They  are  always  "los  rebeldes."  Nor  does  he  allude  anywhere  to  the 
possibility  of  interference  from  them,  except  in  the  use  of  Sluys  har- 
bour. Their  ships  had  been  off  Dunkirk  in  the  middle  of  July,  but 
they  had  been  driven  into  the  Scheldt  by  the  storm  of  the  night  of 
the  2ist-3ist,  and  did  not  issue  from  it  again  till  after  the  action  off 
Gravelines.  —  See  Burnham  to  Walsingham,  July  25-August  4;  Kil- 
legrew  to  Walsingham,  July  31-August  10:  AISS.  Holland.  Lord 
Howard  says  expressly  that  on  the  action  of  July  29,  not  a  Dutch  sail 
was  visible.  I  do  not  insist  on  this  from  any  wish  to  detract  from 
the  merits  of  the  Hollanders.  Their  good  deserts  in  the  cause  of  Euro- 
pean liberty  are  too  genuine  to  require  or  permit  a  fictitious  distinction 
to  be  intertwined  in  their  laurel  wreath.  —  Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  39 

made  for  Flushing,^  leaving  him  dependent  on  the 
imperfect  knowledge  of  the  Spanish  shipmasters  and 
their  still  more  imperfect  charts. 

XLIX.    Grave,   however,  as   may  have   been   the 
anxiety  of  the  Spanish    commander,   Lord    Howard    5 
and  the  English  officers  had  cause  for  deeper  dis- 
quiet.    Their  spirits  were  unshaken,  their  resolution 
firm  as  ever ;  but  they  could  not  conceal  from  them- 
selves that  they  had  severe  and  dangerous  work  before 
them,  and  that  on  their  conduct  only  it  depended  to  10 
save  their  country,  if   not  from  conquest,  yet  from 
being  the  scene  of  a  bloody  and  desperate  struggle. 
Notwithstanding  all  that  they  could  do,  the  enemy's 
fleet  had  arrived  at  its  destination,  how  much  injured 
they  could  not  tell,  but  to  appearance  with  its  strength  15 
not  materially  impaired,  and  in  communica-  juiyas- 
tion  with  the  Prince  of  Parma's  army.     Lord  ^"s^st  7. 
Henry  Seymour  joined  them  with  the  squadron  of 
the  Straits  an  hour  after  they  anchored,  and  forty 
London  privateers  were  reported  to  be  in  the  mouth  20 
of  the  Thames.     But  ships  and  men  were  of  no  use 
without  food  and   ammunition.     Seymour  was  vict- 
ualled but  for  ''one  day's  full  meal."     Howard  and 
Drake,  after  sharing  all  they  had  in  their  respective 
divisions,  eked  out  as  it  had  been  by  short  rations,  25 
fish,  and  voluntary  fasting,  could  provide  their  crews 
but  with  five  scanty  dinners  and  one  breakfast  more. 
The  provisions  said  to  be  on  the  way  had  not  arrived  ; 

4*  Notes  from  Flushing,  August  3-13  :  MS.  Ibid.    Calderon  says  that 
two  of  them  deserted  to  Lord  Howard.  —  Froude. 


40  James  Anthony  Froude 

and  of  powder,  after  all  that  Sussex  had  been  able  to 
furnish  out  of  Dover  Castle,  they  had  only  sufficient 
for  one  day's  fighting.  Burghley  had  laboured  in 
vain  with  the  Queen.  He  had  tried  to  borrow  money 
5  in  the  city,  but  his  credit  in  the  city  had  sunk  with  the 
appearance  of  the  Spaniards ;  *^  and  the  prudent  mer- 
chants had  drawn  their  purse  strings  till  the  cloud 
over  the  future  should  be  raised.  The  treasury  was 
not  empty.     There  is  no  record  that  the  half  million 

lo  of  reserve  had  been  touched.  The  Burgundian  dia- 
monds had  been  neither  restored  nor  disposed  of; 
but  to  the  money  and  the  jewels,  which  as  Howard 
said,  would  never  save  her,  Elizabeth  clung  with  the 
maddened  grasp  of  passionate  avarice.    It  was  known 

15  that  there  was  powder  in  the  Tower.  A  messenger 
had  galloped  up  from  Dover  stating  the  condition  of 
the  fleet,  and  pressing  for  an  instant  supply.  The 
most  tapebound  constitutional  government  could  not 
have  sent  a  more  hopeless  answer  than  Walsingham 

20  was  obliged  to  return.  The  Admiral  was  lying  with 
empty  magazines,  with  an  enemy  twice  his  strength 
almost  within  gunshot,  and  he  was  required  to  specify 
exactly  "  the  proportion  of  shot  and  powder  that  he 
wanted."  *^ 

25  L.  Deserters  may  perhaps  have  comforted  him 
with  the  knowledge  that  the  Spaniards  were  no  better 

*^  Burghley  to  Walsingham,  July  19-29  :  MSS.  Domestic.  — Froude. 

46  «  You  write  that  I  must  specify  the  proportion  of  shot  and  powder 
that  we  want.  Such  is  the  uncertainty  of  the  service,  that  no  man  can 
do  it;  therefore  with  all  speed  send  as  much  as  you  can."  —  Howard  to 
Walsingham,  July  29- August  8 :  MSS.  Domestic.  —  Froude^ 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  4 1 

provided ;  but  Parma's  magazines  were  at  hand,  and 
delay  at  all  events  was  ruin.  Starvation,  if  nothing 
else,  would  drive  every  English  ship  from  the  seas 
in  another  week,  and  the  Channel  would  be  in  the 
enemy's  possession.  Sunday  was  fine,  with  the  wind  s 
still  from  the  southwest.  The  boats  of  the  Armada 
passed  backwards  and  forwards  between  the  galleons 
and  Calais,  bringing  fresh  vegetables,  medicines,  and 
other  conveniences.  In  the  afternoon,  as  the  breeze 
freshened,  five  large  English  ships  drove  their  an-  10 
chors  and  fouled  each  other;  but  they  were  sepa- 
rated without  serious  hurt  and  securely  moored 
again,  and  at  five  in  the  evening  a  council  of  war 
was  held  in  Howard's  cabin.  Howard  himself,  with 
Sheffield,  Seymour,  Southwell,  Palmer,  Drake,  Haw-  15 
kins.  Winter,  Fenner,  and  Frobisher  assembled  with 
the  fate  of  England  in  their  hands,  to  decide  what 
to  do.  If  we  are  to  believe  Camden,  "  the  foresight 
of  Queen  Elizabeth "  prescribed  the  course  which 
was  resolved  upon.  ao 

LI.  The  Spanish  fleet  was  anchored  close  on  the 
edge  of  the  shoal  water,  and  to  attack  it  where  it 
lay  was  impossible.  It  was  determined  to  drive 
them  out  into  the  Channel  with  fire-ships,  of  which 
they  were  known  to  be  afraid.  Sir  Henry  Palmer  25 
proposed  to  cross  to  Dover  and  fetch  over  some 
worthless  hulks;  but  time  would  be  lost,  and  there 
was  not  a  day  nor  an  hour  to  spare.  Among  the 
volunteer  vessels  which  had  attached  themselves  to 
the  fleet,  there  were  many  that  w^ould  be  useless  in  30 


42  James  Anthony  Froude 

action,  and  as  fit  as  the  best  for  the  service  for  which 
they  were  now  needed.  Eight  were  taken,  the  rig- 
ging smeared  rapidly  with  pitch,  the  hulls  filled  with 
any  useless  material  which  could  be  extemporised 
5  that  would  contribute  to  the  blaze.  The  sky  was 
cloudy,  the  moon  was  late  in  its  last  quarter,  and 
did  not  rise  till  morning ;  and  the  tide,  towards  mid- 
night, set  directly  down  from  the  English  position 
to  where  the  ships  of  the  Armada,  seeking  shelter 

lo  from  the  bend  of  the  coast,  lay  huddled  dangerously 
close.  Long,  low,  sighing  gusts  from  the  westward 
promised  the  rising  of  a  gale.^^  The  crews  of  the 
condemned  vessels  undertook  to  pilot  them  to  their 
destination,  and  then  belay  the  sheets,  lash  the  helm, 

15  fire,  and  leave  them. 

LI  I.  Thus,  when  the  Spanish  bells  were  about 
striking  twelve,  and,  save  the  watch  on  deck,  sol- 
diers and  seamen  lay  stretched  in  sleep,  certain  dark 
objects  which  had  been  seen  dimly  drifting  on   the 

20  tide  near  where  the  galleons  lay  thickest,  shot  sud- 
denly into  pyramids  of  light,  flames  leaping  from 
ruddy  sail  to  sail,  flickering  on  the  ropes  and  fore- 
castles, foremasts  and  bowsprits  a  lurid  blaze  of  con- 
flagration.*^    A  cool  commander  might  have  ordered 

*'^  For  the  details  of  the  scenes  of  the  night  and  the  following  day  I 
must  refer  generally  to  the  letters  of  Howard,  Drake,  Winter,  Tomson, 
Fenner,  and  others  in  the  Record  Office,  and  to  four  Spanish  accounts, 
written  by  persons  actually  present,  Coco  Calderon,  the  Prince  of  Ascoli, 
Don  Juan  de  Manrique,  and  one  more  whose  name  is  not  given,  all  of 
which  are  in  MS.  at  Simancas.  —  Froude. 

48  «  Y  ellas  ardiendo  espantosamente  "  :  Calderon.  —  Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  43 

out  his  boats  and  towed  the  fireships  clear;  but 
Medina  Sidonia,  with  a  strain  already  upon  him 
beyond  the  strength  of  his  capacity,  saw  coming 
upon  him  some  terrible  engines  of  destruction,  like 
the  floating  mine  which  had  shattered  Parma's  5 
bridge  at  Antwerp.*^  Panic  spread  through  the 
entire  Armada;  the  enemy  they  most  dreaded  was 
upon  them.  The  galleons  were  each  riding  with 
two  anchors ;  for  their  misfortune  few  of  them  were 
provided  with  a  third.  A  shot  was  fired  from  the  10 
San  Martin  as  a  signal  to  cut  or  slip  their  cables 
and  make  to  sea.  Amidst  cries  and  confusion,  and 
lighted  to  their  work  by  the  blaze,  they  set  sail  and 
cleared  away,  congratulating  themselves,  when  they 
had  reached  the  open  water  and  found  that  all  or  15 
most  of  them  were  safe,  on  the  skill  with  which 
they  had  defeated  the  machinations  of  the  enemy. 
They  lay-to  six  miles  from  shore,  intending  to  return 
with  the  daylight,  recover  their  anchors  and  resume 
their  old  position.  20 

LIII.  The  English  meanwhile,  having  accom- 
plished at  least  part  of  their  purpose  in  starting  the 
Armada  out  of  its  berth,  weighed  at  leisure,  and 
stood  off  after  it  from  the  shore,  Drake,  with  half 
the  fleet,  hanging  on  the  skirts  of  the  Spaniards;  25 
Howard,  with  the  rest,  hovering  nearer  to  Calais, 
endeavouring  to  drive  in  upon  the  sands  or  the  fire- 

^9  In  April,  1585,  the  Antwerpers  blew  up  the  bridge  across  the 
Scheldt  which  Parma  had  constructed  to  prevent  supplies  from  reach- 
ing the  city. 


44  James  Anthony  Fronde 

ships  the  last  loiterers  of  the  Armada,  which  had 
been  slower  than  the  rest  in  getting  out.  The  first 
•  July  29-  object  which  the  Admiral  saw  at  daybreak 
Augusts,  ^^g  ^j^g  largest  of  the  four  galleasses,  with 
5  De  Mongada  himself  on  board,  aground  on  Calais 
Bar.  Her  helm  had  been  entangled  in  a  cable,  she 
had  become  ungovernable,  and  the  tide  had  forced 
her  ashore  within  shot  of  the  French  batteries 
at  back  of  the  sand-bank  which  forms  the  harbour. 

10  The  tide  had  ebbed,  the  water  was  still  round  her, 
but  she  had  fallen  over  towards  the  bank,^^  and 
Howard,  whose  notion  was  to  *'  pluck  the  feathers 
of  the  Spaniards  one  by  one,"^^  sent  his  own  launch 
with  some  other  boats  to  take  her.     She  was  power- 

15  fully  manned ;  between  soldiers,  sailors,  and  slaves, 
she  carried  seven  hundred  men.  In  the  position  in 
which  she  was  lying,  however,  her  large  guns  were 
useless,  and  the  galley-slaves,  with  the  prospect  of 
liberty  before  them,  did  not  make  the  defence  more 

20  easy.  The  Spaniards  fought  gallantly ;  several  of 
the  English  were  killed,  but  at  last  two  musket  balls 
struck  Mongada  at  the  same  moment.  He  fell  dead 
on  the  deck.  The  slaves  sprung  overboard,  and 
half  in  panic  and  half  in  pursuit,  the  crew  and  the 

25  troops  followed.  "  Some  swam,  some  waded  on 
shore,  many  were  drowned."  The  English  swarmed 
up  over  the  bulwarks,  took   possession  of  the  gal- 

50  «  por  estar  boleado  de  un  lado."  — Froude. 

^1  Howard  to  Walsingham,  July  29-August  8 :  MSS.  Domestic.  — 
Froude. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  45 

leass,  and    intended    to   wait    for   the  tide  to  carry 
her  off. 

LIV.  The  French  meanwhile  were  watching  the 
scene  in  crowds  from  the  top  of  the  Rysbank.  M. 
Gourdain,  as  the  ship  was  on  the  French  shore,  s 
might  have  disputed  if  he  had  pleased  the  lawfulness 
of  the  capture.  He  contented  himself  with  sending 
off  a  boat  with  a  message  that  the  English  deserved 
the  spoil  for  their  courage,  and  might  have  it;  but 
the  ship  itself  he  required  them  to  leave  where  10 
it  lay.  The  language  was  perfectly  friendly,  and 
Gourdain  having  been  appointed  by  the  King, 
was  better  disposed  to  England  than  to  Spain. 
National  antipathy,  however,  proved  too  strong  to 
be  controlled.  *'  Our  rude  men,"  says  an  English  15 
officer  who  was  present,  "  knowing  no  difference  be- 
tween friend  and  foe,"  began  to  ill-use  the  French 
who  had  come  on  board,  "  spoiling  them,"  and  proba- 
bly pitching  them  into  the  sea.  Their  friends  on 
shore  took  up  their  quarrel.  The  Rysbank  battery  20 
opened  upon  the  galleass  in  return,  and  the  English 
had  to  scramble  into  their  boats  in  haste,  carrying 
with  them  what  plunder  they  could  seize.^^ 

LV.    It  was  well  that  no  more  time  was  wasted 
over  so  small  a  matter.     Lord  Howard  had  delayed  25 
already  too  long  for  his  fame.^     It  was  no  time  for 

^2  R.  Tomson  to  Walsingham,  July  30-August  9 :  MSS.  Domestic. 
—  Froude. 

^3  "  Del  Almirante  se  habla  un  poco  que  no  hizo  su  deber.  Toda 
la  gloria  se  da  a  Drack."  —  Extract  of  a  letter  from  Calais,  August  31  : 
MSS.  Simancas.  —  Froude. 


46  James  Anthony  Froude 

the  Admiral  of  the  fleet  to  be  loitering  over  a  stray- 
plume  which  had  dropped  from  the  enemy's  wing, 
when  every  ship  was  imperiously  needed  for  a  far 
more  important  service.     Medina  Sidonia  intended 

5  to  return  to  his  position  at  Calais.  Drake,  whose 
larger  mind  comprehended  the  position  in  its  broader 
bearings,  was  determined  not  only  that  he  should 
never  see  his  anchors  again,  but  that  he  should  be 
driven  north  through  the  Narrow  Seas.     The  wind 

10  was  still  rising  and  threatened  a  storm.  He  had 
seen  enough  of  the  sailing  powers  of  the  galleons 
to  be  assured  that  until  it  shifted  they  could  make 
no  way  against  it ;  and  once  in  the  North  Sea, 
they  would  be  in  unknown  waters  without   a   har- 

15  bour  into  which  they  could  venture  to  run,  and  at 
all  events  for  a  time  cut  off  from  their  communi- 
cation with  Dunkirk.  They  had  drifted  in  the 
night  further  than  they  intended,  and  when  the 
sun   rose  they  were  scattered  over  a  large  surface 

20  off  Gravelines.^  Signals  were  sent  up  for  them  to 
collect  and  make  back  for  Calais;  but  Drake  with 
his  own  squadron,  and  Henry  Seymour,  with  the 
squadron  of  the  Straits,  having  the  advantage  of 
wind,  speed,  and   skill,  came   on   them   while   they 

25  were  still  dispersed.  Seymour  opened  the  action 
at  eight  in  the  morning  with  a  cluster  of  galleons 
on  the  Spaniard's  extreme  right.  Reserving  their 
fire  till  within  a  hundred  and  twenty  yards,  and 
wasting  no  cartridges   at   any  longer   distance,  the 

^  About  twelve  miles  east  of  Calais  and  west  of  Dunkirk. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  47 

English  ships  continued  through  the  entire  fore- 
noon to  pour  into  them  one  continuous  rain  of 
shot.  They  were  driven  in  upon  their  own  centre, 
where  they  became  entangled  in  a  confused  and 
helpless  mass,  a  mere  target  to  the  English  guns,  5 
Sir  William  Winter  alone  delivering  five  hundred 
shot  into  them,  "'  never  out  of  harquebuz  range, 
and  often  within  speaking  distance."  ^^ 

LVI.    Drake    himself    meanwhile   had    fallen    on 
Medina  Sidonia  and  Oquendo,  who,  with  a  score  of  10 
galleons  better  handled  than  the  rest,  were  endeav- 
ouring to  keep  sea  room,  and  retain  some  command 
of  themselves.      But  their  wretched  sailing  powers 
put  them   at   a   disadvantage   for   which    skill   and 
courage  could  not  compensate.      The  English  were  15 
always   to  windward   of   them,  and   hemmed   in   at 
every  turn,  they  too  were  forced  back  upon  their 
consorts,  hunted  together  as  a  shepherd  hunts  sheep 
upon  a  common,  and  the  whole  mass  of  them  forced 
slowly  towards  the  shoals  and  banks  on  the  Flanders  20 
coast. 

LVII.  Howard  came  up  at  noon  to  join  in  the 
work  of  destruction.  The  English  accounts  tell  a 
simple  story.  The  Spaniards'  gun  practice,  which 
had  been  always  bad,  was  helpless  beyond  past  25 
experience.  Their  want  of  ammunition  was  not 
suspected,  for  they  continued  to  fire  throughout  the 
day  after  their  slow  awkward  fashion;  but  their 
guns,  worked   on   rolling   platforms  by  soldiers  un- 

^  Winter  to  Walsingham,  August  i-ii  :  MSS.  Domestic. — Froude. 


48  James  Antho7ty  Froude 

used  to  the  sea,  sent  their  shot  into  the  air  or  into 
the  water;  while  the  English,  themselves  almost 
untouched,  fired  into  them  without  intermission  from 
eight  in  the  morning  till  sunset,  "when  almost  the 

5  last  cartridge  was  spent,  and  every  man  was  weary 
with  labour."  They  took  no  prizes  and  attempted 
to  take  none.  Their  orders  were  to  sink  or  destroy. 
They  saw  three  large  galleons  go  down.  Three 
others,  as   the  wind  fell  westerly,  they  saw  reeling 

10  helplessly  towards  Ostend;  and  the  fate  of  these 
they  heard  of  afterwards ;  but  of  the  general  effect 
of  the  fire,  neither  at  the  time  nor  afterwards  did 
they  know  anything  beyond  its  practical  and  broad 
results.     Some  details,  however,  of  that  terrible  day 

15  can  be  gathered  from  the  narratives  of  the  few 
Spaniards  who  fought  through  it  and  survived  to 
tell  the  tale. 

[The  paragraphs  immediately  following  this  take  up  the  tale, 
as  may  be  inferred  from  the  last  sentence,  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  Spanish.  From  this  point  of  view  they  repeat  what  has 
already  been  said  in  paragraphs  LV.,  LVL,  and  LVII.  The 
narrative  then  traces  the  flight  of  the  Spanish,  the  pursuit  by 
the  English  as  far  as  Scotland,  and  the  return  of  the  latter  to 
England.  The  chapter  then  continues  as  indicated  in  the 
preface  to  the  selection.^ 


II 
J^otiert  ILouis  Stebenson 

Born  1850.    Died  1894 
PERSONAL  EXPERIENCE  AND  REVIEW 

\The  Amateur  Emigrant^  from  which  the  following  chapter, 
Personal  Experience  and  Review,,  is  taken,  is  a  record,  of  the 
voyage  which  Stevenson  made  in  the  second  cabin  of  an  Atlan- 
tic liner  to  America  in  1879.  The  preceding  six  chapters  give 
the  impressions  of  the  author  during  his  voyage,  and  pictures  of 
the  life  on  board  ship  —  of  the  passengers,  the  officers,  the  crew, 
and  of  chance  stowaways.  The  present  chapter  is  a  summing 
up  of  the  impressions  of  the  ship  and  its  people.  The  book 
was  written  in  rough  shortly  after  the  voyage  but  remained  un- 
published until  1895. 

The  chapter  is  here  printed  through  the  kindness  of  Messrs. 
Stone  and  Kimball  of  Chicago.] 

I.  Travel  is  of  two  kinds ;  and  this  voyage  of 
mine  across  the  ocean  combined  both.  "Out  of  my 
country  and  myself  I  go,"  sings  the  old  poet :  and  I 
was  not  only  travelling  out  of  my  country  in  lati- 
tude and  longitude,  but  out  of  myself  in  diet,  asso-  s 
ciates,  and  consideration.     Part  of   the  interest  and 

a  great  deal  of  the  amusement  flowed,  at  least  to 
me,  from  this  novel  situation  in  the  world. 

II.  I  found  that  I  had  what  they  call  fallen  in 
life  with  absolute  success  and  verisimilitude.     I  was  10 

E  49 


50  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

taken  for  a  steerage  passenger ;  no  one  seemed 
surprised  that  I  should  be  so  ;  and  there  was  noth- 
ing but  the  brass  plate  between  decks  to  remind 
me   that  I  had  once  been  a  gentleman.       In  a  for- 

5  mer  book,^  describing  a  former  journey,  I  expressed 
some  wonder  that  I  could  be  readily  and  naturally 
taken  for  a  pedlar,  and  explained  the  accident  by 
the  difference  of  language  and  manners  between 
England  and  France.     I  must  now  take  a  humbler 

lo  view ;  for  here  I  was  among  my  own  countrymen, 
somewhat  roughly  clad,  to  be  sure,  but  with  every 
advantage  of  speech  and  manner ;  and  I  am  bound 
to  confess  that  I  passed  for  nearly  anything  you 
please  except  an  educated  gentleman.      The  sailors 

15  called  me  "mate,"  the  officers  addressed  me  as 
"my  man,"  my  comrades  accepted  me  without  hesi- 
tation for  a  person  of  their  own  character  and 
experience,  but  with  some  curious  information. 
One,   a   mason   himself,    believed    I   was   a   mason ; 

20  several,  and  among  these  at  least  one  of  the  sea- 
men, judged  me  to  be  a  petty  officer  in  the  Amer- 
ican navy ;  and  I  was  so  often  set  down  for  a 
practical  engineer  that  at  last  I  had  not  the  heart 
to   deny  it.      From   all   these   guesses    I    drew  one 

25  conclusion,  which  told  against  the  insight  of  my 
companions.  They  might  be  close  observers  in 
their  own  way,  and  read  the  manners  in  the  face ; 
but  it  was  plain  that  they  did  not  extend  their 
observation  to  the  hands. 

1  Travels  with  a  Donkey  in  the  Cevennes. 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  51 

III.  To  the  saloon  passengers  also  I  sustained 
my  part  without  a  hitch.  It  is  true  I  came  little 
in  their  way ;  but  when  we  did  encounter,  there 
was  no  recognition  in  their  eye,  although  I  confess 

I  sometimes  courted  it  in  silence.      All   these,  my    5 
inferiors  and  equals,  took  me,  like  the  transformed 
monarch  in  the  story,^  for  a  mere  common,  human 
man.      They  gave  me  a  hard,  dead  look,  with   the 
flesh  about  the  eye  kept  unrelaxed. 

IV.  With  the  women  this  surprised  me  less,  as  I  10 
had  already  experimented  on  the  sex  by  going  abroad 
through  a  suburban  part  of   London  simply  attired 

in  a  sleeve-waistcoat.  The  result  was  curious.  I 
then  learned  for  the  first  time,  and  by  the  exhaus- 
tive process,  how  much  attention  ladies  are  accus-  15 
tomed  to  bestow  on  all  male  creatures  of  their  own 
station ;  for,  in  my  humble  rig,  each  one  who  went 
by  me  caused  me  a  certain  shock  of  surprise  and 
a  sense  of  something  wanting.  In  my  normal  cir- 
cumstances, it  appeared  every  young  lady  must  have  20 
paid  me  some  tribute  of  a  glance ;  and  though  I 
had  often  not  detected  it  when  it  was  given,  I  was 
well  aware  of  its  absence  when  it  was  withheld. 
My  height  seemed  to  decrease  with  every  woman 
who  passed  me,  for  she  passed  me  like  a  dog.  25 
This  is  one  of  my  grounds  for  supposing  that  what 
are  called  the  upper  classes  may  sometimes  pro- 
duce  a   disagreeable   impression  in  what  are  called 

2  The  story  is  perhaps  most  familiar  in  Longfellow's  King  Robert  of 
Sicily. 


52  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

the  lower ;  and  I  wish  some  one  would  continue  my 
experiment,  and  find  out  exactly  at  what  stage  of 
toilette  a  man  becomes  invisible  to  the  well-regu- 
lated female  eye. 
5  V.  Here  on  shipboard  the  matter  was  put  to  a 
more  complete  test  ;  for,  even  with  the  addition  of 
speech  and  manner,  I  passed  among  the  ladies  for 
precisely  the  average  man  of  the  steerage.  It  was 
one    afternoon    that    I    saw  this    demonstrated.      A 

lo  very  plainly  dressed  woman  was  taken  ill  on  deck. 
I  think  I  had  the  luck  to  be  present  at  every  sud- 
den seizure  during  all  the  passage  ;  and  on  this  oc- 
casion found  myself  in  the  place  of  importance, 
supporting  the  sufferer.     There  was  not  only  a  large 

IS  crowd  immediately  around  us,  but  a  considerable 
knot  of  saloon  passengers  leaning  over  our  heads 
from  the  hurricane-deck.  One  of  these,  an  elderly 
managing  woman,  hailed  me  with  counsels.  Of  course 
I  had  to  reply ;  and  as  the  talk  went  on,  I  began  to 

20  discover  that  the  whole  group  took  me  for  the  hus- 
band. I  looked  upon  my  new  wife,  poor  creature,  with 
mingled  feelings ;  and  I  must  own  she  had  not  even 
the  appearance  of  the  poorest  class  of  city  servant- 
maids,  but  looked  more  like  a  country  wench  who 

25  should  have  been  employed  in  a  roadside  inn.  Now 
was  the  time  for  me  to  go  and  study  the  brass  plate.^ 

^  The  dividing  line  between  the  steerage  and  the  second  cabin  in 
which  Stevenson  was  travelling.  On  page  7  he  says  :  "  When  I  felt 
out  of  spirits  I  could  go  down  and  refresh  myself  with  a  look  of 
that  brass  plate."     Compare  also  the  second  sentence  of  paragraph  II. 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  53 

VI.  To  such  of  the  officers  as  knew  about  me  — 
the  doctor,  the  purser,  and  the  stewards  —  I  appeared 
in  the  light  of  a  broad  joke.     The  fact  that  I  spent 
the  better  part  of  my  day  in  writing  had  gone  abroad 
over   the    ship    and    tickled    them    all    prodigiously,    s 
Whenever  they  met  me  they  referred  to  my  absurd 
occupation  with    familiarity  and  breadth  of   humor- 
ous   intention.     Their   manner   was  well   calculated 
to  remind  me  of  my  fallen  fortunes.     You   may  be 
sincerely  amused  by  the  amateur  literary  efforts  of  10 
a  gentleman,  but  you  scarce  publish  the  feeling  to 
his  face.     "  Well !  "  they  would  say  :  "  still  writing } " 
And   the    smile   would   widen    into  a    laugh.      Thoi^ 
purser  came  one  day  into  the  cabin,  and,   touched 

to  the  heart  by  my  misguided  industry,  offered  me  15 
some  other  kind  of  writing,  **for  which,"  he  added 
pointedly,   "you  will   be  paid."     This  was  nothing 
else  than  to  copy  out  the  list  of  passengers. 

VII.  Another  trick  of  mine  which  told  against 
my  reputation  was  my  choice  of  roosting-place  in  an  20 
active  draught  upon  the  cabin  floor.  I  was  openly 
jeered  and  flouted  for  this  eccentricity ;  and  a  con- 
siderable knot  would  sometimes  gather  at  the  door 
to  see  my  last  dispositions  for  the  night.  This  was 
embarrassing,  but  I  learned  to  support  the  trial  with  25 
equanimity. 

VIII.  Indeed  I  may  say  that,  upon  the  whole,  my 
new  position  sat  lightly  and  naturally  upon  my 
spirits.  I  accepted  the  consequences  with  readiness, 
and   found    them    far   from  difficult    to    bear.     The  30 


54  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

steerage  conquered  me ;  I  conformed  more  and  more 
to  the  type  of  the  place,  not  only  in  manner  but  at 
heart,  growing  hostile  to  the  officers  and  cabin  pas- 
sengers who  looked  down  upon  me,  and  day  by  day 

5  greedier  for  small  delicacies.  Such  was  the  result, 
as  I  fancy,  of  a  diet  of  bread  and  butter,  soup  and 
porridge.  We  think  we  have  no  sweet  tooth  as  long 
as  we  are  full  to  the  brim  of  molasses ;  but  a  man 
must    have    sojourned    in    the  workhouse  before  he 

lo  boasts  himself  indifferent  to  dainties.  Every  even- 
ing, for  instance,  I  was  more  and  more  pre-occupied 
about  our  doubtful  fare  at  tea.  If  it  was  delicate 
my  heart  was  much  lightened  ;  if  it  was  but  broken 
fish  I  was  proportionally  downcast.     The  offer  of  a 

15  little  jelly  from  a  fellow-passenger  more  provident 
than  myself  caused  a  marked  elevation  in  my  spirits. 
And  I  would  have  gone  to  the  ship's  end  and  back 
again  for  an  oyster  or  a  chipped  fruit. 

IX.    In  other  ways  I  was  content  with  my  posi- 

20  tion.  It  seemed  no  disgrace  to  be  confounded  with 
my  company;  for  I  may  as  well  declare  at  once  I 
found  their  manners  as  gentle  and  becoming  as  those 
of  any  other  class.  I  do  not  mean  that  my  friends 
could   have    sat    down    without    embarrassment    and 

25  laughable  disaster  at  the  table  of  a  duke.  That 
does  not  imply  an  inferiority  of  breeding,  but  a  dif- 
ference of  usage.  Thus  I  flatter  myself  that  I  con- 
ducted myself  well  among  my  fellow-passengers; 
yet  my  most  ambitious  hope  is  not  to  have  avoided 

30  faults,  but   to   have  committed  as  few  as  possible. 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  55 

I  know  too  well  that  my  tact  is  not  the  same  as 
their  tact,  and  that  my  habit  of  a  different  society 
constituted,  not  only  no  qualification,  but  a  positive 
disability  to  move  easily  and  becomingly  in  this. 
When  Jones  complimented  me  —  because  I  "man-  5 
aged  to  behave  very  pleasantly"  to  my  fellow-pas- 
sengers, was  how  he  put  it  —  I  could  follow  the 
thought  in  his  mind,  and  knew  his  compliment  to 
be  such  as  we  pay  foreigners  on  their  proficiency  in 
English.  I  dare  say  this  praise  was  given  me  im-  10 
mediately  on  the  back  of  some  unpardonable  sole- 
cism, which  had  led  him  to  review  my  conduct  as 
a  whole.  We  are  all  ready  to  laugh  at  the  plough- 
man among  lords ;  we  should  consider  also  the  case 
of  a  lord  among  the  ploughmen.  I  have  seen  a  15 
lawyer  in  the  house  of  a  Hebridean  fisherman;  and 
I  know,  but  nothing  will  induce  me  to  disclose, 
which  of  these  two  was  the  better  gentleman. 
Some  of  our  finest  behaviour,  though  it  looks  well 
enough  from  the  boxes,  may  seem  even  brutal  to  20 
the  gallery.  We  boast  too  often  manners  that  are 
parochial  rather  than  universal ;  that,  like  a  country 
wine,  will  not  bear  transportation  for  a  hundred 
miles,  nor  from  the  parlour  to  the  kitchen.  To  be 
a  gentleman  is  to  be  one  all  the  world  over,  and  25 
in  every  relation  and  grade  of  society.  It  is  a  high 
calling,  to  which  a  man  must  first  be  born,  and 
then  devote  himself  for  life.  And,  unhappily,  the 
manners  of  a  certain  so-called  upper  grade  have  a 
kind  of  currency,  and  meet  with  a  certain  external  30 


$6  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

acceptation  throughout  all  the  others,  and  this  tends 
to  keep  us  well  satisfied  with  slight  acquirements 
and  the  amateurish  accomplishments  of  a  clique. 
But  manners,  like  art,  should  be  human  and  central. 

5  X.  Some  of  my  fellow-passengers,  as  I  now 
moved  among  them  in  a  relation  of  equality,  seemed 
to  me  excellent  gentlemen.  They  were  not  rough, 
nor  hasty,  nor  disputatious;  debated  pleasantly,  dif- 
fered kindly;  were  helpful,  gentle,  patient,  and  placid. 

lo  The  type  of  manners  was  plain,  and  even  heavy ; 
there  was  little  to  please  the  eye,  but  nothing  to 
shock;  and  I  thought  gentleness  lay  more  nearly  at 
the  spring  of  behaviour  than  in  many  more  ornate 
and  delicate  societies.     I  say  delicate,  where  I  can- 

15  not  say  refined ;  a  thing  may  be  fine,  like  ironwork, 
without  being  delicate  like  lace.  There  was  here 
less  delicacy ;  the  skin  supported  more  callously  the 
natural  surface  of  events,  the  mind  received  more 
bravely  the  crude  facts  of  human  existence;   but  I 

20  do  not  think  that  there  was  less  effective  refine- 
ment, less  consideration  for  others,  less  polite  sup- 
pression of  self.  I  speak  of  the  best  among  my 
fellow-passengers;  for  in  the  steerage,  as  well  as  in 
the  saloon,  there  is  a  mixture.     Those,  then,  with 

25  whom  I  found  myself  in  sympathy,  and  of  whom  I 
may  therefore  hope  to  write  with  a  greater  measure 
of  truth,  were  not  only  as  good  in  their  manners, 
but  endowed  with  very  much  the  same  natural  capa- 
cities, and  about  as  wise  in  deduction,  as  the  bankers 

30  and  barristers  of  what  is  called  society.      One  and 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  57 

all  were  too  much  interested  in  disconnected  facts, 
and  loved  information  for  its  own  sake  with  too 
rash  a  devotion;  but  people  in  all  classes  display 
the  same  appetite  as  they  gorge  themselves  daily 
with  the  miscellaneous  gossip  of  the  newspaper,  s 
Newspaper  reading,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  is 
often  rather  a  sort  of  brown  study  than  an  act  of 
culture.  I  have  myself  palmed  off  yesterday's  issue 
on  a  friend,  and  seen  him  re-peruse  it  for  a  continu- 
ance of  minutes  with  an  air  at  once  refreshed  and  lo 
solemn.  Workmen,  perhaps,  pay  more  attention ;  but 
though  they  may  be  eager  listeners,  they  have  rarely 
seemed  to  me  either  willing  or  careful  thinkers. 
Culture  is  not  measured  by  the  greatness  of  the 
field  which  is  covered  by  our  knowledge,  but  by  the  is 
nicety  with  which  we  can  perceive  relations  in  that 
field,  whether  great  or  small.  Workmen,  certainly 
those  who  were  on  board  with  me,  I  found  wanting 
in  this  quality  or  habit  of  the  mind.  They  did  not 
perceive  relations,  but  leaped  to  a  so-called  cause,  20 
and  thought  the  problem  settled.  Thus  the  cause 
of  everything  in  England  was  the  form  of  govern- 
ment, and  the  cure  for  all  evils  was,  by  consequence, 
a  revolution.  It  is  surprising  how  many  of  them 
said  this,  and  that  none  should  have  had  a  definite  25 
thought  in  his  head  as  he  said  it.  Some  hated  the 
Chur.ch  because  they  disagreed  with  it;  some  hated 
Lord  Beaconsfield  because  of  war  and  taxes ;  all 
hated  the  masters,  possibly  with  reason.  But  these 
feelings  were   not   at   the   root  of  the  matter;  the  30 


5 8  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

true  reasoning  of  their  souls  ran  thus  —  I  have  not 
got  on;  I  ought  to  have  got  on;  if  there  was  a 
revolution  I  should  get  on.  How  ?  They  had  no 
idea.      Why  }      Because  —  because  —  well,    look    at. 

5  America ! 

XI.  To  be  politically  blind  is  no  distinction ;  we 
are  all  so,  if  you  come  to  that.  At  bottom,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  there  is  but  one  question  in  modern 
home   politics,   though    it   appears  in   many  shapes, 

lo  and  that  is  the  question  of  money ;  and  but  one 
political  remedy,  that  the  people  should  grow  wiser 
and  better.  My  workmen  fellow-passengers  were 
as  impatient  and  dull  of  hearing  on  the  second  of 
these    points    as    any    member   of   Parliament ;    but 

IS  they  had  some  glimmerings  of  the  first.  They 
would  not  hear  of  improvement  on  their  part,  but 
wished  the  world  made  over  again  in  a  crack,  so 
that  they  might  remain  improvident  and  idle  and 
debauched,  and  yet    enjoy  the  comfort  and  respect 

2o  that  should  accompany  the  opposite  virtues ;  and  it 
was  in  this  expectation,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  that 
many  of  them  were  now  on  their  way  to  America. 
But  on  the  point  of  money  they  saw  clearly  enough 
that  inland  politics,  so  far  as  they  were  concerned, 

25  were  reducible  to  the  question  of  annual  income ; 
a  question  which  should  long  ago  have  been  settled 
by  a  revolution,  they  did  not  know  how,  and  which 
they  were  now  about  to  settle  for  themselves,  once 
more  they  knew  not  how,  by  crossing  the  Atlantic 

30  in  a  steamship  of  considerable  tonnage. 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  59 

XII.  And  yet  it  has  been  amply  shown  them  that 
the  second  or  income  question  is  in  itself  nothing, 
and  may  as  well  be  left  undecided,  if  there  be  no 
wisdom  and  virtue  to  profit  by  the  change.  It  is 
not  by  a  man's  purse,  but  by  his  character,  that  he  5 
is  rich  or  poor.  Barney  will  be  poor,  Alick  will  be 
poor,  Mackay  will  be  poor ;  let  them  go  where  they 
will,  and  wreck  all  the  governments  under  heaven, 
they  will  be  poor  until  they  die. 

XIII.  Nothing  is   perhaps   more    notable   in   the  10 
average  workman    than  his  surprising  idleness,  and 
the  candour  with  which  he  confesses  to  the  faihng. 

It  has  to  me  been  always  something  of  a  relief  to 
find  the  poor,  as  a  general  rule,  so  little  oppressed 
with  work.  I  can  in  consequence  enjoy  my  own  15 
more  fortunate  beginning  with  a  better  grace.  The 
other  day  I  was  living  with  a  farmer  in  America, 
an  old  frontiersman,  who  had  worked  and  fought, 
hunted  and  farmed,  from  his  childhood  up.  He 
excused  himself  for  his  defective  education  on  the  20 
ground  that  he  had  been  overworked  from  first  to 
last.  Even  now,  he  said,  anxious  as  he  was,  he  had 
never  the  time  to  take  up  a  book.  In  consequence 
of  this,  I  observed  him  closely ;  he  was  occupied 
for  four  or,  at  the  extreme  outside,  for  five  hours  25 
out  of  the  twenty-four,  and  then  principally  in 
walking ;  and  the  remainder  of  the  day  he  passed 
in  born  idleness,  either  eating  fruit  or  standing 
with  his  back  against  a  door.  I  have  known  men 
do  hard  literary  work  all  morning,  and  then  undergo  30 


6o  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

quite  as  much  physical  fatigue  by  way  of  relief  as 
satisfied  this  powerful  frontiersman  for  the  day. 
He,  at  least,  like  all  the  educated  class,  did  so  much 
homage  to  industry  as  to  persuade  himself  he  was 
5  industrious.  But  the  average  mechanic  recognizes 
his  idleness  with  effrontery ;  he  has  even,  as  I  am 
told,  organized  it. 

XIV.    I  give  the  story  as  it  was  told  me,  and  it 
was  told  me  for  a  fact.     A  man  fell  from  a  house- 

lo  top  in  the  city  of  Aberdeen,  and  was  brought  into 
hospital  with  broken  bones.  He  was  asked  what 
was  his  trade,  and  replied  that  he  was  a  tapper. 
No  one  had  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  before ; 
the    officials   were    filled    with    curiosity ;    they    be- 

is  sought  an  explanation.  It  appeared  that  when  a 
party  of  slaters  were  engaged  upon  a  roof,  they 
would  now  and  then  be  taken  with  a  fancy  for  the 
public-house.  Now  a  seamstress,  for  example,  might 
slip  away  from  her  work  and  no  one  be  the  wiser; 

20  but  if  these  fellows  adjourned,  the  tapping  of  the 
mallets  would  cease,  and  thus  the  neighbourhood  be 
advertised  of  their  defection.  Hence  the  career  of 
the  tapper.  He  has  to  do  the  tapping  and  keep  up 
an    industrious   bustle    on  the  housetop  during  the 

25  absence  of  the  slaters.  When  he  taps  for  only  one 
or  two  the  thing  is  child's-play,  but  when  he  has 
to  represent  a  whole  troop,  it  is  then  that  he  earns 
his  money  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  Then  must 
he  bound  from  spot  to  spot,   reduplicate,  triplicate, 

30  sexduplicate  his    single  personality,   and    swell  and 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  6i 

hasten  his  blows,  until  he  produce  a  perfect  illu- 
sion for  the  ear,  and  you  would  swear  that  a  crowd 
of  emulous  masons  were  continuing  merrily  to  roof 
the  house.  It  must  be  a  strange  sight  from  an 
upper  window.  5 

XV.  I  heard  nothing  on  board  of  the  tapper; 
but  I  was  astonished  at  the  stories  told  by  my 
companions.  Skulking,  shirking,  malingering,  were 
all  established  tactics,  it  appeared.  They  could  see 
no  dishonesty  where  a  man  who  is  paid  for  an  lo 
hour's  work  gives  half  an  hour's  consistent  idling  in 
its  place.  Thus  the  tapper  would  refuse  to  watch 
for  the  police  during  a  burglary,  and  call  himself 
an  honest  man.  It  is  not  sufficiently  recognized 
that  our  race  detests  to  work.  If  I  thought  that  I  is 
should  have  to  work  every  day  of  my  life  as  hard 
as  I  am  working  now,  I  should  be  tempted  to  give 
up  the  struggle.  And  the  workman  early  begins 
on  his  career  of  toil.  He  has  never  had  his  fill  of 
holidays  in  the  past,  and  his  prospect  of  holidays  20 
in  the  future  is  both  distant  and  uncertain.  In 
the  circumstances,  it  would  require  a  high  degree 
of  virtue  not  to  snatch  alleviations  for  the  moment. 

XVI.  There  were  many  good  talkers  on  the  ship  ; 
and  I  believe  good  talking  of  a  certain  sort  is  a  com-  25 
mon  accomplishment  among  working  men.  Where 
books  are  comparatively  scarce,  a  greater  amount  of 
information  will  be  given  and  received  by  word  of 
mouth ;  and  this  tends  to  produce  good  talkers, 
and,  what  is  no  less  needful  for  conversation,  good  30 


62  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

listeners.  They  could  all  tell  a  story  with  effect.  I 
am  sometimes  tempted  to  think  that  the  less  literary 
class  show  always  better  in  narration ;  they  have  so 
much  more  patience  with  detail,  are  so  much  less 
5  hurried  to  reach  the  points,  and  preserve  so  much 
juster  a  proportion  among  the  facts.  At  the  same 
time  their  talk  is  dry ;  they  pursue  a  topic  plod- 
dingly, have  not  an  agile  fancy,  do  not  throw  sudden 
lights  from  unexpected  quarters,  and  when  the  talk 

lo  is  over  they  often  leave  the  matter  where  it  was. 
They  mark  time  instead  of  marching.  They  think 
only  to  argue,  not  to  reach  new  conclusions,  and 
use  their  reason  rather  as  a  weapon  of  offence  than 
as  a  tool  for  self-improvement.     Hence  the  talk  of 

15  -some   of   the   cleverest   was   unprofitable    in    result, 

because  there  was  no  give  and  take  ;    they  would 

grant  you  as  little  as  possible  for  premise,  and  begin 

to  dispute  under  an  oath  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

XVII.    But  the  talk  of  a  workman  is  apt  to  be 

20  more  interesting  than  that  of  a  wealthy  merchant, 
because  the  thoughts,  hopes,  and  fears  of  which  the 
workman's  life  is  built  lie  nearer  to  necessity  and 
nature.  They  are  more  immediate  to  human  life. 
An  income  calculated  by  the  week   is  a  far   more 

25  human  thing  than  one  calculated  by  the  year,  and 
a  small  income,  simply  from  its  smallness,  than  a 
large  one.  I  never  wearied  listening  to  the  details 
of  a  workman's  economy,  because  every  item  stood 
for  some  real  pleasure.     If  he  could  afford  pudding 

30  twice  a  week,  you  know  that  twice  a  week  the  man 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  63 

ate  with  genuine  gusto  and  was  physically  happy ; 
while  if  you  learn  that  a  rich  man  has  seven  courses 
a  day,  ten  to  one  the  half  of  them  remain  untasted, 
and  the  whole  is  but  misspent  money  and  a  weari- 
ness to  the  flesh.  S 

XVIII.  The  difference  between  England  and 
America  to  a  working  man  was  thus  most  humanly 
put  to  me  by  a  fellow-passenger:  **  In  America," 
said  he,  "you  get  pies  and  puddings."  I  do  not 
hear  enough,  in  economy  books,  of  pies  and  pudding.  10 
A  man  lives  in  and  for  the  delicacies,  adornments, 
and  accidental  attributes  of  life,  such  as  pudding  to 
eat  and  pleasant  books  and  theatres  to  occupy  his 
leisure.  The  bare  terms  of  existence  would  be  re- 
jected with  contempt  by  all.  If  a  man  feeds  on  15 
bread  and  butter,  soup  and  porridge,  his  appetite 
grows  wolfish  after  dainties.  And  the  workman 
dwells  in  a  borderland,  and  is  always  within  sight  of 
those  cheerless  regions  where  life  is  more  difficult 
to  sustain  than  worth  sustaining.  Every  detail  of  20 
our  existence,  where  it  is  worth  while  to  cross  the 
ocean  after  pie  and  pudding,  is  made  alive  and 
enthralling  by  the  presence  of  genuine  desire ;  but 
it  is  all  one  to  me  whether  Croesus  has  a  hundred 
or  a  thousand  thousands  in  the  bank.  There  is  25 
more  adventure  in  the  life  of  the  working  man  who 
descends  as  a  common  soldier  into  the  battle  of  life, 
than  in  that  of  the  millionaire  who  sits  apart  in 
an  office,  like  Von  Moltke,  and  only  directs  the 
manoeuvres  by  telegraph.     Give  me  to   hear  about  30 


64  Robert  Louis   Stevenson 

the  career  of  him  who  is  in  the  thick  of  the  busi- 
ness ;  to  whom  one  change  of  market  means  an 
empty  belly,  and  another  a  copious  and  savoury 
meal.  This  is  not  the  philosophical,  but  the  human 
side  of  economics ;  it  interests  like  a  story ;  and  the 
life  of  all  who  are  thus  situated  partakes  in  a  small 
way  of  the  charm  of  Robinson  Crusoe ;  for  every 
step  is  critical,  and  human  life  is  presented  to  you 
naked  and  verging  to*  its  lowest  terms. 


Ill 

Sofjn  JHorleg 

Born  1838 

MACAULAY 

[Mr.  Morley's  essay  appeared  in  the  April  number  of  the 
Fortnightly  Review  for  1876.  It  was  afterwards  printed  as  one 
of  a  volume  of  essays,  and  is  now  to  be  found,  with  the  omission 
of  one  paragraph,  in  Volume  I.  of  the  Critical  Miscellanies, 
published  by  Messrs.  Macmillan  and  Company,  from  which  the 
text  is  here  taken.  As  the  author  says  in  the  opening  paragraph, 
the  essay  was  written  in  anticipation  of  the  appearance  of  the 
Life  and  Letters  of  Lord  Macaulay.'] 

I.  "After  glancing  my  eye  over  the  design  and 
order  of  a  new  book,"  says  Gibbon,  "I  suspended 
the  perusal  till  I  had  finished  the  task  of  self- 
examination,  till  I  had  revolved  in  a  solitary  walk 
all  that  I  knew  or  believed  or  had  thought  on  the 
subject  of  the  whole  work  or  of  some  particular 
chapter  ;  I  was  then  qualified  to  discern  how  much 
the  author  added  to  my  original  stock ;  and  if  I 
was  sometimes  satisfied  by  the  agreement,  I  was 
sometimes  warned  by  the  opposition  pf  our  ideas." 
It  is  also  told  of  Strafford  that  before  reading  any 
book  for  the  first  time,  he  would  call  for  a  sheet 
of  paper,  and  then  proceed  to  write  down  upon  it 

F  65 


66  John  Morley 

some  sketch  of  the  ideas  that  he  already  had  upon 
the  subject  of  the  book,  and  of  the  questions  that 
he  expected  to  find  answered.  No  one  who  has 
been  at  the  pains  to  try  the  experiment,  will  doubt 

5  the  usefulness  of  this  practice :  it  gives  to  our 
acquisitions  from  books  clearness  and  reality,  a 
right  place  and  an  independent  shape.  At  this 
moment  we  are  all  looking  for  the  biography  of 
an    illustrious    man    of   letters,^   written    by   a   near 

lo  kinsman,  who  is  himself  naturally  endowed  with 
keen  literary  interests,  and  who  has  invigorated 
his  academic  cultivation  by  practical  engagement  in 
considerable  affairs  of  public  business.  Before  tak- 
ing up   Mr.  Trevelyan's  two  volumes,  it   is  perhaps 

15  worth  while,  on  Strafford's  plan,  to  ask  ourselves 
shortly  what  kind  of  significance  or  value  belongs 
to  Lord  Macaulay's  achievements,  and  to  what 
place  he  has  a  claim  among  the  forces  of  English 
literature.      It    is    seventeen    years    since    he    died, 

20  and  those  of  us  who  never  knew  him  nor  ever  saw 
him,  may  now  think  about  his  work  with  that  per- 
fect detachment  which  is  impossible  in  the  case  of 
actual  contemporaries.^ 

1  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Lord  Macaulay,  by  his  nephew,  George 
Otto  Trevelyan,  appeared  in  1876. 

2  Since  the  following  piece  was  written,  Mr.  Trevelyan's  biography 
of  Lord  Macaulay  has  appeared,  and  has  enjoyed  the  great  popularity 
to  which  its  careful  execution,  its  brightness  of  style,  its  good  taste,  its 
sound  judgment,  so  richly  entitle  it.  If  Mr.  Trevelyan's  course  in  poli- 
tics were  not  so  useful  as  it  is,  one  might  be  tempted  to  regret  that  he 
had  not  chosen  literature  for  the  main  field  of  his  career.  The  portrait 
which  he  draws  of  Lord  Macaulay  is  so  irresistibly  attractive  in  many 


Macaulay  6^ 

II.  That  Macaulay  comes  in  the  very  front  rank 
in  the  mind  of  the  ordinary  bookbuyer  of  our  day 
is  quite  certain.  It  is  an  amusement  with  some 
people  to  put  an  imaginary  case  of  banishment  to 
a  desert  island,  with  the  privilege  of  choosing  the  5 
works  of  one  author,  and  no  more  than  one,  to 
furnish  literary  companionship  and  refreshment  for 
the  rest  of  a  lifetime.  Whom  would  one  select  for 
this  momentous  post }  Clearly  the  author  must  be 
voluminous,  for  days  on  desert  islands  are  many  and  10 
long ;  he  must  be  varied  in  his  moods,  his  topics, 
and  his  interests  ;  he  must  have  a  great  deal  to  say, 
and  must  have  a  power  of  saying  it  that  shall 
arrest  a  depressed  and  dolorous  spirit.  English- 
men, of  course,  would  with  mechanical  unanimity  call  15 
for  Shakespeare ;  Germans  could  hardly  hesitate 
about  Goethe ;  and  a  sensible  Frenchman  would 
pack  up  the  ninety  volumes  of  Voltaire.  It  would 
be  at  least  as  interesting  to  know  the  object  of  a 
second  choice,  supposing  the  tyrant  in  his  clem-  20 
ency  to  give  us  two  authors.  In  the  case  of  Eng- 
lishmen there  is  some  evidence  as  to  a  popular 
preference.     A  recent  traveller  in  Australia  informs 

ways,  that  a  critic  may  be  glad  to  have  delivered  his  soul  before  his 
judgment  was  subject  to  a  dangerous  bias,  by  the  picture  of  Macaulay's 
personal  character  —  its  domestic  amiability,  its  benevolence  to  unlucky 
followers  of  letters,  its  manliness,  its  high  public  spirit  and  generous 
patriotism.  On  reading  my  criticism  over  again,  I  am  well  pleased  to 
find  that  not  an  epithet  needs  to  be  altered,  —  so  independent  is  opinion 
as  to  this  strong  man's  work,  of  our  esteem  for  his  loyal  and  upright 
character.  —  Morley. 


68  John  Morley 

us  that  the  three  books  which  he  found  on  every 
squatter's  shelf,  and  which  at  last  he  knew  before 
he  crossed  the  threshold  that  he  should  be  sure  to 
find,  were  Shakespeare,  the  Bible,  and  Macaulay's 
5  Essays.  This  is  only  an  illustration  of  a  feeling 
about  Macaulay  that  has  been  almost  universal 
among  the  English-speaking  peoples. 

III.    We  may  safely  say  that  no  man  obtains  and 
keeps  for  a  great  many  years  such  a  position  as  this, 

lo  unless  he  is  possessed  of  some  very  extraordinary 
qualities,  or  else  of  common  qualities  in  a  very  un- 
common and  extraordinary  degree.  The  world,  says 
Goethe,  is  more  willing  to  endure  the  Incongruous 
than  to  be  patient   under  the  Insignificant.     Even 

IS  those  who  set  least  value  on  what  Macaulay  does  for 
his  readers,  may  still  feel  bound  to  distinguish  the 
elements  that  have  given  him  his  vast  popularity. 
The  inquiry  is  not  a  piece  of  merely  literary  criticism, 
for  it  is  impossible  that  the  work  of  so  imposing  a 

20  writer  should  have  passed  through  the  hands  of  every 
man  and  woman  of  his  time  who  has  even  the  hum- 
blest pretensions  to  cultivation,  without  leaving  a 
very  decided  mark  on  their  habits  both  of  thought 
and  expression.      As  a  plain  matter  of  observation, 

25  it  is  impossible  to  take  up  a  newspaper  or  a  review, 
for  instance,  without  perceiving  Macaulay's  influence 
both  in  the  style  and  the  temper  of  modern  journal- 
ism, and  journalism  in  its  turn  acts  upon  the  style 
and  temper  of  its  enormous  uncounted  public.     The 

30  man  who  now  succeeds  in  catching  the  ear  of  the 


Macaulay  69 

writers  of  leading  articles,  is  in  the  position  that  used 
to  be  held  by  the  head  of  some  great  theological 
school,  whence  disciples  swarmed  forth  to  reproduce 
in  ten  thousand  pulpits  the  arguments,  the  opinions, 
the  images,  the  tricks,  the  postures,  and  the  manner-  5 
isms  of  a  single  master. 

IV.    Two  men  of  very  different  kinds  have  thor- 
oughly impressed   the  journalists   of  our  time,  Ma- 
caulay and  Mr.   Mill.^     Mr.  Carlyle  we  do  not  add 
to  them  ;  he  is,  as  the  Germans  call  Jean  Paul,  der  10 
Einzige.     And  he  is  a  poet,  while  the  other  two  are 
in  their  degrees  serious  and  argumentative  writers, 
dealing  in  different  ways  with  the  great  topics  that 
constitute  the  matter  and  business  of  daily  discus- 
sion.    They  are  both  of  them  practical  enough  to  15 
interest  men  handling  real  affairs,  and  yet  they  are 
general  or  theoretical  enough  to  supply  such  men 
with  the  large  and  ready  commonplaces  which  are    • 
so  useful  to  a  profession  that  has  to  produce  literary 
graces   and   philosophical   decorations   at   an    hour's  20 
notice.     It  might  perhaps  be  said  of  these  two  dis- 
tinguished men  that  our  public  writers  owe  most  of 
their  virtues  to  the  one,  and  most  of  their  vices  to 
the  other.     If  Mill  taught  some  of  them  to  reason, 
Macaulay  tempted  more  of  them  to  declaim  :  if  Mill  25 
set  an   example  of  patience,   tolerance,  and  fair  ex- 
amination of  hostile  opinions,  Macaulay  did  much  to 

^  It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  Mill  and  Carlyle  were  alive  at  the 
time  of  writing  the  essay  (1876) ;  hence  the  title  Mr.  was  properly  added 
to  their  names. 


70  John  Morley 

encourage  oracular  arrogance,  and  a  rather  too  thra- 
sonical complacency ;  if  Mill  sowed  ideas  of  the  great 
economic,  political,  and  moral  bearings  of  the  forces 
of  society,  Macaulay  trained  a  taste  for  superficial 

5  particularities,  trivial  circumstantialities  of  local 
colour,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  pseudo- 
picturesque. 

V.    Of  course  nothing  so  obviously  untrue  is  meant 
as  that  this  is  an  account  of  Macaulay's  own  quality. 

lo  What  is  empty  pretension  in  the  leading  article,  was 
often  a  warranted  self-assertion  in  Macaulay;  what 
in  it  is  little  more  than  testiness,  is  in  him  often  a 
generous  indignation.  What  became  and  still  remain 
in  those  who  have  made  him  their  model,  substan- 

15  tive  and  organic  vices,  the  foundation  of  literary 
character  and  intellectual  temper,  were  in  him  the 
incidental  defects  of  a  vigorous  genius.  And  we 
have  to  take  a  man  of  his  power  and  vigour  with 
all  his  drawbacks,  for  the  one  are  wrapped  up  in 

20  the  other.  Charles  Fox  used  to  apply  to  Burke  a 
passage  that  Quintilian  wrote  about  Ovid.  "  Si 
animi  sui  affectibus  temperare  quam  indulgere  ma- 
luisset,"  quoted  Fox,  "quid  vir  iste  praestare  non 
potuerit!"*     But   this   is   really  not   at   all   certain 

35  either  of  Ovid,  or  Burke,  or  any  one  else.  It  suits 
moralists  to  tell  us  that  excellence  lies  in  the  happy 
mean  and  nice  balance  of  our  faculties  and  impulses, 
and  perhaps  in  so  far  as  our  own  contentment  and 

*  [Had  that  man  chosen  rather  to  temper  his  will  than  to  indulge  it, 
in  what  might  he  not  have  excelled !] 


Macaulay  7 1 

an  easy  passage  through  Hfe  are  involved,  what  they 
tell  us  is  true.  But  for  making  a  mark  in  the  world, 
for  rising  to  supremacy  in  art  or  thought  or  affairs 
—  whatever  those  aims  maybe  worth  —  a  man  pos- 
sibly does  better  to  indulge,  rather  than  to  chide  s 
or  grudge,  his  genius,  and  to  pay  the  penalties  for 
his  weakness,  rather  than  run  any  risk  of  mutilating 
those  strong  faculties  of  which  they  happen  to  be 
an  inseparable  accident.  Versatility  is  not  a  uni- 
versal gift  among  the  able  men  of  the  world;  not  10 
many  of  them  have  so  many  gifts  of  the  spirit,  as 
to  be  free  to  choose  by  what  pass  they  will  climb 
"the  steep  where  Fame's  proud  temple  shines  afar." 
If  Macaulay  had  applied  himself  to  the  cultivation 
of  a  balanced  judgment,  of  tempered  phrases,  and  15 
of  relative  propositions,  he  would  probably  have 
sunk  into  an  impotent  tameness.  A  great  pugilist 
has  sometimes  been  converted  from  the  error  of  his 
ways,  and  been  led  zealously  to  cherish  gospel  graces, 
but  the  hero's  discourses  have  seldom  had  the  notes  20 
of  unction  and  edification.  Macaulay  divested  of  all 
the  exorbitancies  of  his  spirit  and  his  style,  would  have 
been  a  Samson  shorn  of  the  locks  of  his  strength. 

VI.  Although,  however,  a  writer  of  marked  qual- 
ity may  do  well  to  let  his  genius  develop  its  spon-  25 
taneous  forces  without  too  assiduous  or  vigilant  re- 
pression, trusting  to  other  writers  of  equal  strength 
in  other  directions,  and  to  the  general  fitness  of 
things  and  operation  of  time,  to  redress  the  bal- 
ance, still  it  is  the  task  of  criticism  in  counting  up  30 


72  John  Mo7'ley 

the  contributions  of  one  of  these  strong  men  to 
examine  the  mischiefs  no  less  than  the  benefits 
incident  to  their  work.  There  is  no  puny  carping 
nor  cavilKng   in   the  process.       It    is    because  such 

5  men  are  strong  that  they  are  able  to  do  harm ; 
they  may  injure  the  taste  and  judgment  of  a  whole 
generation,  just  because  they  are  never  mediocre. 
That  is  implied  in  strength.  Macaulay  is  not  to  be 
measured  now  merely  as    if   he  were  the  author  of 

lo  a  new  book.  His  influence  has  been  a  distinct 
literary  force,  and  in  an  age  of  reading,  this  is  to 
be  a  distinct  force  in  deciding  the  temper,  the 
process,  the  breadth,  of  men's  opinions,  no  less  than 
the    manner    of    expressing    them.      It    is    no    new 

15  observation  that  the  influence  of  an  author  becomes 
in  time  something  apart  from  his  books  :  a  certain 
generalised  or  abstract  personality  impresses  itself 
on  our  minds,  long  after  we  have  forgotten  the 
details  of  his  opinions,  the  arguments  by  which  he 

20  enforced  them,  and  even,  what  are  usually  the  last 
to  escape  us,  the  images  by  which  he  illustrated 
them.  Phrases  and  sentences  are  a  mask  :  but  we 
detect  the  features  of  the  man  behind  the  mask. 
This  personality  of  a  favourite  author  is  a  real  and 

25  powerful  agency.  Unconsciously  we  are  infected 
with  his  humours ;  we  apply  his  methods ;  we  find 
ourselves  copying  the  rhythm  and  measure  of  his 
periods ;  we  wonder  how  he  would  have  acted,  or 
thought,  or  spoken  in  our  circumstances.       Usually 

30  a  strong  writer  leaves  a  special  mark  in  some  par- 


Macaulay  73 

ticular  region  of  mental  activity :  the  final  product 
of  him  is  to  fix  some  persistent  religious  mood,  or 
some  decisive  intellectual  bias,  or  else  some  trick 
of  the  tongue.  Now  Macaulay  has  contributed  no 
philosophic  ideas  to  the  speculative  stock,  nor  has  s 
he  developed  any  one  great  historic  or  social  truth. 
His  work  is  always  full  of  a  high  spirit  of  manli- 
ness, probity,  and  honour ;  but  he  is  not  of  that 
small  band  to  whom  we  may  apply  Mackintosh's 
thrice  and  four  times  enviable  panegyric  on  the  10 
eloquence  of  Dugald  Stewart,  that  its  peculiar  glory 
consisted  in  having  "breathed  the  love  of  virtue 
into  whole  generations  of  pupils."  He  has  painted 
many  striking  pictures,  and  imparted  a  certain  real- 
ity to  our  conception  of  many  great  scenes  of  the  is 
past.  He  did  good  service  in  banishing  once  for  all 
those  sentimental  Jacobite  leanings  and  prejudices 
which  had  been  kept  alive  by  the  sophistry  of  the 
most  popular^  of  historians,  and  the  imagination  of 
the  most  popular^  of  romance  writers.  But  where  20 
he  set  his  stamp  has  been  upon  style ;  style  in  its 
widest  sense,  not  merely  on  the  grammar  and 
mechanism  of  writing,  but  on  what  De  Quincey 
described  as  its  organology ;  "^  style,  that  is  to  say, 
in  its  relation  to  ideas  and  feelings,  its  commerce  25 
with  thought,  and  its  reaction  on  what  one  may  call 
the  temper  or  conscience  of  the  intellect. 

5  David  Hume.  «  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

'^.  For  De  Quincey's  theory  of  the  mechanology  and  the  organology  of 
style,  see  his  essay  on  Style^  Part  I. 


74  John  Morley 

VII.  Let  no  man  suppose  that  it  matters  little 
whether  the  most  universally  popular  of  the  serious 
authors  of  a  generation  —  and  Macaulay  was  nothing 
less  than  this  —  affects  style  coupd  or  style  sotUenu^ 

5  The  critic  of  style  is  not  the  dancing-master,  declaim- 
ing on  the  deep  ineffable  things  that  lie  in  a  minuet. 
He  is  not  the  virtuoso  of  supines  and  gerundives. 
The  morality  of  style  goes  deeper  "than  dull  fools 
suppose."     When  Comte  took  pains  to  prevent  any 

lo  sentence  from  exceeding  two  lines  of  his  manuscript 
or  five  of  print ;  to  restrict  every  paragraph  to  seven 
sentences ;  to  exclude  every  hiatus  between  two 
sentences,  or  even  between  two  paragraphs ;  and 
never  to  reproduce  any  word,  except  the  auxiliary 

15  monosyllables,  in  two  consecutive  sentences ;  he  jus- 
tified his  literary  solicitude  by  insisting  on  the  whole- 
someness  alike  to  heart  and  intelligence  of  submission 
to  artificial  institutions.  He  felt,  after  he  had  once 
mastered  the  habit  of  the  new  yoke,  that  it  became 

20  the  source  of  continual  and  unforeseeable  improve- 
ments even  in  thought,  and  he  perceived  that  the 
reason  why  verse  is  a  higher  kind  of  literary  per- 
fection than  prose,  is  that  verse  imposes  a  greater 
number  of  rigorous  forms.     We  may  add  that  verse 

25  itself  is  perfected,  in  the  hands  of  men  of  poetic 
genius,  in  proportion  to  the  severity  of  this  mechan- 


8  Style  coupe  is,  technically,  that  style  in  which  the  various  so-called 
elements,  particularly  the  sentences,  are,  so  far  as  possible,  independent 
of  one  another.  In  style  soutenu  there  is  a  closer  binding  of  phrases 
and  sentences,  both  organically  and  by  conjunctions. 


Macaulay  75 

ical  regulation.  Where  Pope  or  Racine  had  one 
rule  of  metre,  Victor  Hugo  has  twenty,  and  he 
observes  them  as  rigorously  as  an  algebraist  or  an 
astronomer  observes  the  rules  of  calculation  or  dem- 
onstration. One,  then,  who  touches  the  style  of  a  s 
generation  acquires  no  trifling  authority  over  its 
thought  and  temper,  as  well  as  over  the  length  of 
its  sentences. 

VIII.  The  first  and  most  obvious  secret  of 
Macaulay's  place  on  popular  bookshelves  is  that  he  10 
has  a  true  genius  for  narration,  and  narration  will 
always  in  the  eyes,  not  only  of  our  squatters  in  the 
Australian  bush,  but  of  the  many  all  over  the  world, 
stand  first  among  literary  gifts.  The  common  run 
of  plain  men,  as  has  been  noticed  since  the  begin-  15 
ning  of  the  world,  are  as  eager  as  children  for  a 
story,  and  like  children  they  will  embrace  the  man 
who  will  tell  them  a  story,  with  abundance  of  details 
and  plenty  of  colour,  and  a  realistic  assurance  that 
it  is  no  mere  make-believe.  Macaulay  never  stops  20 
to  brood  over  an  incident  or  a  character,  with  an 
inner  eye  intent  on  penetrating  to  the  lowest  depth 
of  motive  and  cause,  to  the  furthest  complexity  of 
impulse,  calculation,  and  subtle  incentive.  The 
spirit  of  analysis  is  not  in  him,  and  the  divine  spirit  25 
of  meditation  is  not  in  him.  His  whole  mind  runs 
in  action  and  movement ;  it  busies  itself  with  eager 
interest  in  all  objective  particulars.  He  is  seized 
by  the  external  and  the  superficial,  and  revels   in 


^6  John  Morley 

every  detail  that  appeals  to  the  five  senses.  "The 
brilliant  Macaulay,"  said  Emerson,  with  slight  exag- 
geration, *'who  expresses  the  tone  of  the  English 
governing  classes  of  the  day,  explicitly  teaches  that 
5  good  means  good  to  eat,  good  to  wear,  material 
commodity."  So  ready  a  faculty  of  exultation  in 
the  exceeding  great  glories  of  taste  and  touch,  of 
loud  sound  and  glittering  spectacle,  is  a  gift  of  the 
utmost  service  to  the  narrator  who  craves  immense 
lo  audiences.  Let  it  be  said  that  if  Macaulay  exults  in 
the  details  that  go  to  our  five  senses,  his  sensuous- 
ness  is  always  clean,  manly,  and  fit  for  honest  day- 
light and  the  summer  sun.  There  is  none  of  that 
curious  odour  of  autuQinal  decay  that  clings  to  the  pas- 
is  sion  of  a  more  modern  school  for  colour  and  flavour 
and  the  enumerated  treasures  of  subtle  indulgence. 

IX.  Mere  picturesqueness,  however,  is  a  minor 
qualification  compared  with  another  quality  which 
everybody  assumes  himself  to  have,  but  which  is  in 
20  reality  extremely  uncommon  ;  the  quality,  I  mean,  of 
telling  a  tale  directly  and  in  straightforward  order. 
In  speaking  of  Hallam,^  Macaulay  complained  that 
Gibbon  had  brought  into  fashion  an  unpleasant  trick 
of  telling  a  story  by  implication  and  allusion.  This 
25  provoking  obliquity  has  certainly  increased  rather 
than  declined  since  Hallam's  day.  Mr.  Froude,  it 
is  true,  whatever  may  be  his  shortcomings  on  the 
side  of  sound  moral  and  political  judgment,  has 
admirable  gifts  in  the  way  of  straightforward  narra- 

^  See  the  review  entitled  Hallani's  Constitutional  History. 


Macaulay  77 

tion,  and  Mr.  Freeman,  when  he  does  not  press  too 
hotly  after  emphasis,  and  abstains  from  overloading 
his  account  with  superabundance  of  detail,  is  usually 
excellent  in  the  way  of  direct  description.  Still,  it 
is  not  merely  because  these  two  writers  are  alive  5 
and  Macaulay  is  not,  that  most  people  would  say  of 
him  that  he  is  unequalled  in  our  time  in  his  mastery 
of  the  art  of  letting  us  know  in  an  express  and  un- 
mistakable way  exactly  what  it  was  that  happened ; 
though  it  is  quite  true  that  in  many  portions  of  10 
his  too  elaborated  History  of  William  the  Third  he 
describes  a  large  number  of  events  about  which,  I 
think,  no  sensible  man  can  in  the  least  care  either 
how  they  happened,  or  whether  indeed  they  hap- 
pened at  all  or  not.  15 

X.  Another  reason  why  people  have  sought  Ma- 
caulay is,  that  he  has  in  one  way  or  another  some- 
thing to  tell  them  about  many  of  the  most  striking 
personages  and  interesting  events  in  the  history  of 
mankind.  And  he  does  really  tell  them  something.  20 
If  any  one  will  be  at  the  trouble  to  count  up  the 
number  of  those  names  that  belong  to  the  world  and 
time,  about  which  Macaulay  has  found  not  merely 
something,  but  something  definite  and  pointed  to 
say,  he  will  be  astonished  to  see  how  large  a  portion  25 
of  the  wide  historic  realm  is  traversed  in  that  ample 
flight  of  reference,  allusion,  and  illustration,  and  what 
unsparing  copiousness  of  knowledge  gives  substance, 
meaning,  and  attraction  to  that  resplendent  blaze  of 
rhetoric.  30 


yS  John  Morley 

XL  Macaulay  came  upon  the  world  of  letters  ^^ 
just  as  the  middle  classes  were  expanding  into  enor- 
mous prosperity,  were  vastly  increasing  in  numbers, 
and  were  becoming  more  alive  than  they  had  ever 
5  been  before  to  literary  interests.  His  Essays  are 
as  good  as  a  library  :  they  make  an  incomparable 
manual  and  vade-mecum  for  a  busy  uneducated  man, 
who  has  curiosity  and  enlightenment  enough  to  wish 
to  know  a  little  about  the  great  lives  and  great 
lo  thoughts,  the  shining  words  and  many-coloured  com- 
plexities of  action,  that  have  marked  the  journey  of 
man  through  the  ages.  Macaulay  had  an  intimate 
acquaintance  both  with  the  imaginative  literature 
and  the  history  of  Greece  and  Rome,  with  the  litera- 
ls ture  and  the  history  of  modern  Italy,  of  France,  and 
of  England.  Whatever  his  special  subject,  he  con- 
trives to  pour  into  it  with  singular  dexterity  a  stream 
of  rich,  graphic,  and  telling  illustrations  from  all 
these  widely  diversified  sources.  Figures  from  his- 
20  tory,  ancient  and  modern,  sacred  and  secular ;  char- 
acters from  plays  and  novels  from  Plautus  down  to 
Walter  Scott  and  Jane  Austen ;  images  and  similes 
from  poets  of  every  age  and  every  nation,  ''pastoral, 
pastoral-comical,  historical-pastoral,  tragical-histori- 
25  cal ; "  shrewd  thrusts  from  satirists,  wise  saws  from 
sages,  pleasantries  caustic  or  pathetic  from  humorists  ; 
all  these  throng  Macaulay's  pages  with  the  bustle 
and  variety  and  animation  of  some  glittering  masque 

1^  The  Essay  on  Milton  appeared  in  1825  in  the  Edinburgh  Review 
and  won  great  favor  for  its  young  author. 


Macaulay  79 

and  cosmoramic  revel  of  great  books  and  heroical 
men.  Hence,  though  Macaulay  was  in  mental  con- 
stitution one  of  the  very  least  Shakesperean  writers 
that  ever  lived,  yet  he  has  the  Shakesperean  quality 
of  taking  his  reader  through  an  immense  gallery  of  5 
interesting  characters  and  striking  situations.  No 
writer  can  now  expect  to  attain  the  widest  popularity 
as  a  man  of  letters  unless  he  gives  to  the  world  multa 
as  well  as  multtim.  Sainte-Beuve,  the  most  eminent 
man  of  letters  in  France  in  our  generation,  wrote  10 
no  less  than  twenty-seven  volumes  of  his  incompara- 
ble Causeries.  Mr.  Carlyle,  the  most  eminent  man 
of  letters  in  England  in  our  generation,  has  taught 
us  that  silence  is  golden  in  thirty  volumes.  Macau- 
lay was  not  so  exuberantly  copious  as  these  two  illus-  15 
trious  writers,  but  he  had  the  art  of  being  as  various 
without  being  so  voluminous. 

XII.  There  has  been  a  great  deal  of  deliberate 
and  systematic  imitation  of  Macaulay's  style,  often 
by  clever  men  who  might  well  have  trusted  to  their  20 
own  resources.  Its  most  conspicuous  vices  are  very 
easy  to  imitate,  but  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  who 
is  less  familiar  with  literature  than  Macaulay  was, 
to  reproduce  his  style  effectively,  for  the  reason  that 
it  is  before  all  else  the  style  of  great  literary  knowl-  25 
edge.  Nor  is  that  all.  Macaulay's  knowledge  was 
not  only  very  wide ;  it  was  both  thoroughly  accurate 
and  instantly  ready.  For  this  stream  of  apt  illustra- 
tions he  was  indebted  to  his  extraordinary  memory, 
and  his  rapid  eye  for  contrasts  and  analogies.     They  30 


8o  John  Morley 

come  to  the  end  of  his  pen  as  he  writes ;  they  are 
not  laboriously  hunted  out  in  indexes,  and  then  added 
by  way  of  afterthought  and  extraneous  interpolation. 
Hence  quotations  and  references  that  in  a  writer 
S  even  of  equal  knowledge,  but  with  his  wits  less 
promptly  about  him,  would  seem  mechanical  and 
awkward,  find  their  place  in  a  page  of  Macaulay  as 
if  by  a  delightful  process  of  complete  assimilation 
and  spontaneous  fusion. 

lo  XIII.  We  may  be  sure  that  no  author  could 
have  achieved  Macaulay's  boundless  popularity 
among  his  comtemporaries,  unless  his  work  had 
abounded  in  what  is  substantially  Commonplace. 
Addison    puts   fine  writing   in    sentiments   that   are 

IS  natural  without  being  obvious,  and  this  is  a  true 
account  of  the  "law"  of  the  exquisite  literature  of 
the  Queen  Anne  men.  We  may  perhaps  add  to 
Addison's  definition,  that  the  great  secret  of  the 
best    kind    of    popularity    is    always    the   noble   or 

20  imaginative  handling  of  Commonplace.  Shake- 
speare may  at  first  seem  an  example  to  the  con- 
trary ;  and  indeed  is  it  not  a  standing  marvel  that 
the  greatest  writer  of  a  nation  that  is  distinguished 
among   all    nations  for  the   pharisaism,  puritanism, 

25  and  unimaginative  narrowness  of  its  judgments  on 
conduct  and  type  of  character,  should  be  paramount 
over  all  writers  for  the  breadth,  maturity,  fulness, 
subtlety,  and  infinite  variousness  of  his  conception 
of   human    life   and    nature }      One  possible  answer 


Macaulay  8 1 

to   the    perplexity    is    that    the  puritanism  does  not 
go  below  the    surface   in    us,  and    that    Englishmen 
are    not    really    limited    in   their    view    by   the    too 
strait  formulas  that  are   supposed   to   contain   their 
explanations  of  the  moral  universe.     On  this  theory  5 
the  popular  appreciation  of  Shakespeare  is  the  irre- 
pressible  response   of  the   hearty   inner   man   to   a    • 
voice,  in  which  he  recognises  the  full  note  of  human 
nature,  and  those  wonders  of  the  world  which  are  not 
dreamt  of  in  his  professed  philosophy.     A  more  obvi-  10 
ous  answer  than  this  is  that  Shakespeare's  popularity 
with  the  many  is  not  due  to  those  finer  glimpses 
that  are   the   very  essence  of   all  poetic  delight   to 
the    few,    but    to   his    thousand    other   magnificent 
attractions,  and   above  all,  after  his  skill  as  a  pure  15 
dramatist   and   master  of   scenic  interest  and  situa- 
tion, to  the  lofty  or  pathetic  setting  with  which  he 
vivifies,  not   the   subtleties  or  refinements,  but   the 
commonest  and  most  elementary  traits  of  the  com- 
monest and  most  elementary  human   moods.      The  20 
few  with  minds  touched  by  nature  or  right  cultiva- 
tion to  the  finer  issues,  admire  the  supreme  genius 
which  takes  some  poor  Italian  tale,  with  its  coarse 
plot  and  gross  personages,  and  shooting  it  through 
with  threads   of  variegated   meditation,  produces   a  25 
masterpiece  of  penetrative  reflection  and  high  pen- 
sive   suggestion  as  to  the  deepest  things  and  most 
secret   parts  of    the    life  of  men.       But  to  the  gen- 
eral these   finer   threads   are   indiscernible.      What 
touches  them  in  the  Shakesperean  poetry,  and  most  30 


82  John  Morley 

rightly  touches  them  and  us  all,  are  topics  eternally 
old,  yet  of  eternal  freshness,  the  perennial  truisms 
of  the  grave  and  the  bride-chamber,  of  shifting 
fortune,  of  the  surprises  of  destiny,  and  the  empti- 
s  ness  of  the  answered  vow.  This  is  the  region  in 
which  the  poet  wins  his  widest  if  not  his  hardest 
triumphs,  the  region  of  the  noble  Commonplace. 

XIV.    A    writer    dealing    with    such    matters    as 
principally   occupied    Macaulay,    has    not   the    privi- 

lo  lege  of  resort  to  these  great  poetic  inspirations. 
Yet  history,  too,  has  its  generous  commonplaces, 
its  plausibilities  of  emotion,  and  no  one  has  ever 
delighted  more  than  Macaulay  did,  to  appeal  to  the 
fine    truisms    that    cluster   round   love    of    freedom 

15  and  love  of  native  land.  The  high  rhetorical  topics 
of  liberty  and  patriotism  are  his  readiest  instru- 
ments for  kindling  a  glowing  reflection  of  these 
magnanimous  passions  in  the  breasts  of  his  read- 
ers.    That  Englishman  is  hardly  to  be  envied  who 

20  can  read  without  a  glow  such  passages  as  that  in 
the  History,  about  Turenne  being  startled  by  the 
shout  of  stern  exultation  with  which  his  English 
allies  advanced  to  the  combat,  and  expressing  the 
delight  of   a   true   soldier  when    he   learned  that  it 

25  was  ever  the  fashion  of  Cromwell's  pikemen  to 
rejoice  greatly  when  they  beheld  the  enemy ;  while 
even  the  banished  cavaliers  felt  an  emotion  of 
national  pride  when  they  saw  a  brigade  of  their 
countrymen,  outnumbered    by   foes    and    abandoned 

30  by   friends,    drive   before   it    in    headlong   rout   the 


Macaulay  83 

finest  infantry  of  Spain,  and  force  a  passage  into 
a  counter-scarp  which  had  just  been  pronounced 
impregnable  by  the  ablest  of  the  marshals  of 
France. ^1  Such  prose  as  this  is  not  less  thrilling 
to  a  man  who  loves  his  country,  than  the  spirited  s 
verse  of  the  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome.  And  the  com- 
monplaces of  patriotism  and  freedom  would  never 
have  been  so  powerful  in  Macaulay's  hands,  if  they 
had  not  been  inspired  by  a.  sincere  and  hearty  faith 
in  them  in  the  soul  of  the  writer.  His  unanalyti-  10 
cal  turn  of  mind  kept  him  free  of  any  temptation 
to  think  of  love  of  country  as  a  prejudice,  or  a  pas- 
sion for  freedom  as  an  illusion.  The  cosmopolitan 
or  international  idea  which  such  teachers  as  Cob- 
den  have  tried  to  impress  on  our  stubborn  island-  15 
ers,  would  have  found  in  Macaulay  not  lukewarm 
or  sceptical  adherence,  but  point-blank  opposition 
and  denial.  He  believed  as  stoutly  in  the  suprem- 
acy of  Great  Britain  in  the  history  of  the  good 
causes  of  Europe,  as  M.  Thiers  beheves  in  the  20 
supremacy  of  France,  or  Mazzini  believed  in  that 
of  Italy.  The  thought  of  the  prodigious  industry, 
the  inventiveness,  the  stout  enterprise,  the  free 
government,  the  wise  and  equal  laws,  the  noble 
literature,  of  this  fortunate  island  and  its  majestic  25 
empire  beyond  the  seas,  and  the  discretion,  valour, 
and  tenacity  by  which  all  these  great  material  and 

^1  History,  Chapter  I.  The  sentence  from  "Turenne  "  to  the  period 
is  taken  directly  from  Macaulay  with  the  change  of  one  or  two  connec- 
tive words. 


84  John  Morley 

still  greater  intangible  possessions  had  been  first 
won,  and  then  kept,  against  every  hostile  comer 
whether  domestic  or  foreign,  sent  through  Macaulay 
a  thrill,  like   that  which  the   thought  of    Paris  and 

5  its  heroisms  moves  in  the  great  poet  of  France, ^^  qj- 
sight  of  the  dear  city  of  the  Violet  Crown  moved 
in  an  Athenian  of  old.  Thus  habitually,  with  all 
sincerity  of  heart,  to  offer  to  one  of  the  greater  popu- 
lar prepossessions  the  incense  due  to  any  other  idol 

lo  of  superstition,  sacred  and  of  indisputable  authority, 
and  to  let  this  adoration  be  seen  shining  in  every 
page,  is  one  of  the  keys  that  every  man  must  find, 
who  would  make  a  quick  and  sure  way  into  the 
temple  of  contemporary  fame. 

15  XV.  It  is  one  of  the  first  things  to  be  said  about 
Macaulay,  that  he  was  in  exact  accord  with  the  com- 
mon average  sentiment  of  his  day  on  every  subject 
on  which  he  spoke.  His  superiority  was  not  of  that 
highest  kind  which  leads  a  man  to  march  in  thought 

20  on  the  outside  margin  of  the  crowd,  watching  them, 
sympathising  with  them,  hoping  for  them,  but  apart. 
Macaulay  was  one  of  the  middle-class  crowd  in  his 
heart,  and  only  rose  above  it  by  splendid  attainments 
and  extraordinary  gifts  of  expression.     He  had  none 

25  of  that  ambition  which  inflames  some  hardy  men,  to 
make  new  beliefs  and  new  passions  enter  the  minds 
of  their  neighbours  ;  his  ascendency  is  due  to  liter- 
ary pomp,  not  to  fecundity  of  spirit.  No  one  has 
ever  surpassed  him  in  the  art  of  combining  resolute 

^  Victor  Hugo. 


Macaulay  85 

and  ostentatious  common  sense  of  a  slightly  coarse 
sort  in  choosing  his  point  of  view,  with  so  considera- 
ble an  appearance  of  dignity  and  elevation  in  setting 
it  forth  and  impressing  it  upon  others.  The  elabo- 
rateness of  his  style  is  very  likely  to  mislead  people  5 
into  imagining  for  him  a  corresponding  elaborate- 
ness of  thought  and  sentiment.  On  the  contrary, 
Macaulay's  mind  was  really  very  simple,  strait,  and 
with  as  few  notes  in  its  register,  to  borrow  a  phrase 
from  the  language  of  vocal  compass,  as  there  are  few  10 
notes,  though  they  are  very  loud,  in  the  register  of 
his  written  prose.  When  we  look  more  closely  into 
it,  what  at  first  wore  the  air  of  dignity  and  elevation, 
in  truth  rather  disagreeably  resembles  the  narrow 
assurance  of  a  man  who  knows  that  he  has  with  him  15 
the  great  battalions  of  public  opinion.  We  are  al- 
ways quite  sure  that  if  Macaulay  had  been  an  Athe- 
nian citizen  towards  the  ninety-fifth  Olympiad,  he 
would  have  taken  sides  with  Anytus  and  Meletus 
in  the  impeachment  of  Socrates.  A  popular  author  20 
must,  in  a  thorough-going  way,  take  the  accepted 
maxims  for  granted.  He  must  suppress  any  whimsi- 
cal fancy  for  applying  the  Socratic  elenchus,^^  or  any 
other  engine  of  criticism,  scepticism,  or  verification, 
to  those  sentiments  or  current  precepts  of  morals,  25 
which  may  in  truth  be  very  equivocal  and  may  be 
much  neglected  in  practice,  but  which  the  public 
opinion  of  his  time  requires  to  be  treated  in  theory 

1^  A  form  of  syllogism.     Here,  the  method  used  by  Socrates  in  re- 
futing the  false  reasoning  of  the  Sophists, 


86  John  Morley 

and  in  literature  as  if  they  had  been  cherished  and 
held  sacred  se7nper,  Mbique^  et  ab  omnibus. 

XVI.  This  is  just  what  Macaulay  does,  and  it  is 
commonly  supposed  to  be  no  heavy  fault  in  him  or 
5  any  other  writer  for  the  common  public.  Man  can- 
not live  by  analysis  alone,  nor  nourish  himself  on  the 
secret  delights  of  irony.  And  if  Macaulay  had  only 
reflected  the  more  generous  of  the  prejudices  of  man- 
kind, it  would  have  been   well  enough.     Burke,  for 

lo  instance,  was  a  writer  who  revered  the  prejudices  of 
a  modern  society  as  deeply  as  Macaulay  did  ;  he  be- 
lieved society  to  be  founded  on  prejudices  and  held 
compact  by  them.  Yet  what  size  there  is  in  Burke, 
what  fine  perspective,  what  momentum,  what  edifica- 

15  tion !  It  may  be  pleaded  that  there  is  the  literature 
of  edification,  and  there  is  the  literature  of  knowl- 
edge, and  that  the  qualities  proper  to  the  one  cannot 
lawfully  be  expected  from  the  other,  and  would  only 
be  very  much  out  of  place  if  they  should  happen  to 

20  be  found  there.  But  there  are  two  answers  to  this. 
First,  Macaulay  in  the  course  of  his  varied  writings 
discusses  all  sorts  of  ethical  and  other  matters,  and 
is  not  simply  a  chronicler  of  party  and  intrigue,  of 
dynasties  and  campaigns.     Second,  and  more  than 

25  this,  even  if  he  had  never  travelled  beyond  the  com- 
position of  historical  record,  he  could  still  have  sown 
his  pages,  as  does  every  truly  great  writer,  no  mat- 
ter what  his  subject  may  be,  with  those  significant 
images   or  far-reaching  suggestions,  which  suddenly 

30  li^ht  up  a  whole  range  of  distant  thoughts  and  sym- 


Macaiday  8'/ 

pathies  within  us ;  which  in  an  instant  affect  the 
sensibilities  of  men  with  a  something  new  and  unfore- 
seen ;  and  which  awaken,  if  only  for  a  passing  mo- 
ment, the  faculty  and  response  of  the  diviner  mind. 
Tacitus  does  all  this,  and  Burke  does  it,  and  that  is  5 
why  men  who  care  nothing  for  Roman  despots  or  for 
Jacobin  despots,  will  still  perpetually  turn  to  those 
writers  almost  as  if  they  were  on  the  level  of  great 
poets  or  very  excellent  spiritual  teachers. 

XVII.  One  secret  is  that  they,  and  all  such  men  10 
as  they  were,  had  that  of  which  Macaulay  can  hardly 
have  had  the  rudimentary  germ,  the  faculty  of  deep 
abstract  meditation  and  surrender  to  the  fruitful 
**  leisures  of  the  spirit."  We  can  picture  Macaulay 
talking,  or  making  a  speech  in  the  House  of  Com-  15 
mons,  or  buried  in  a  book,  or  scouring  his  library 
for  references,  or  covering  his  blue  foolscap  with 
dashing  periods,  or  accentuating  his  sentences  and 
barbing  his  phrases ;  but  can  anybody  think  of  him 
as  meditating,  as  modestly  pondering  and  wondering,  20 
as  possessed  for  so  much  as  ten  minutes  by  that 
spirit  of  inwardness,  which  has  never  been  wholly 
wanting  in  any  of  those  kings  and  princes  of  litera- 
ture with  whom  it  is  good  for  men  to  sit  in  coun- 
sel.? He  seeks  Truth,  not  as  she  should  be  sought,  25 
devoutly,  tentatively,  and  with  the  air  of  one  touch- 
ing the  hem  of  a  sacred  garment,  but  clutching  her 
by  the  hair  of  the  head  and  dragging  her  after  him 
in  a  kind  of  boisterous  triumph,  a  prisoner  of  war 
and  not  a  goddess.  30 


88  John  Morley 

XVIII.  All  this  finds  itself  reflected,  as  the  inner 
temper  of  a  man  always  is  reflected,  in  his  style  of 
written  prose.  The  merits  of  Macaulay's  prose  are 
obvious  enough.  It  naturally  reproduces  the  good 
5  qualities  of  his  understanding,  its  strength,  manli- 
ness, and  directness.  That  exultation  in  material 
goods  and  glories  of  which  we  have  already  spoken, 
makes  his  pages  rich  in  colour,  and  gives  them  the 
effect  of  a  sumptuous  gala-suit.  Certainly  the  bro- 
lo  cade  is  too  brand-new,  and  has  none  of  the  delicate 
charm  that  comes  to  such  finery  when  it  is  a  little 
faded.  Again,  nobody  can  have  any  excuse  for  not 
knowing  exactly  what  it  is  that  Macaulay  means. 
We  may  assuredly  say  of  his  prose  what  Boileau 
IS  says  of  his  own  poetry  — "  Et  mon  vers,  bien  ou 
mal,  dit  toujours  quelque  chose."  ^*  This  is  a  pro- 
digious merit,  when  we  reflect  with  what  fatal  alac- 
rity human  language  lends  itself  in  the  hands  of  so 
many  performers  upon  the  pliant  instrument,  to  all 
20  sorts  of  obscurity,  ambiguity,  disguise,  and  preten- 
tious mystification.  Scaliger  is  supposed  to  have 
remarked  of  the  Basques  and  their  desperate  tongue : 
"'Tis  said  the  Basques  understand  one  another;  for 
my  part,  I  will  never  believe  it."  The  same  pun- 
as gent  doubt  might  apply  to  loftier  members  of  the 
hierarchy  of  speech  than  that  forlorn  dialect,  but 
never  to  English  as  handled  by  Macaulay.  He 
never  wrote  an   obscure   sentence   in   his   life,  and 

^*  [And  my  verse,  whether  good  or  bad,  always  has  something  to 
say.] 


Macaulay  89 

this  may  seem  a  small  merit,  until  we  remember  of 
how  few  writers  we  could  say  the  same. 

XIX.  Macaulay  is  of  those  who  think  prose  as 
susceptible  of  polished  and  definite  form  as  verse, 
and  he  was,  we  should  suppose,  of  those  also  who  5 
hold  the  type  and  mould  of  all  written  language  to 
be  spoken  language.  There  are  more  reasons  for  de- 
murring to  the  soundness  of  the  latter  doctrine  than 
can  conveniently  be  made  to  fill  a  digression  here. 
For  one  thing,  spoken  language  necessarily  implies  10 
one  or  more  listeners,  whereas  written  language 
may  often  have  to  express  meditative  moods  and 
trains  of  inward  reflection  that  move  through  the 
mind  without  trace  of  external  reference,  and  that 
would  lose  their  special  traits  by  the  introduction  15 
of  any  suspicion  that  they  were  to  be  overheard. 
Again,  even  granting  that  all  composition  must  be 
supposed  to  be  meant,  by  the  fact  of  its  existence, 
to  be  addressed  to  a  body  of  readers,  it  still  re- 
mains to  be  shown  that  indirect  address  to  the  20 
inner  ear  should  follow  the  same  method  and 
rhythm  as  address  directly  through  impressions  on 
the  outer  organ.  The  attitude  of  the  recipient  mind 
is  different,  and  there  is  the  symbolism  of  a  new 
medium  between  it  and  the  speaker.  The  writer,  25 
being  cut  off  from  all  those  effects  which  are  pro- 
ducible by  the  physical  intonations  of  the  voice, 
has  to  find  substitutes  for  them  by  other  means,  by 
subtler  cadences,  by  a  more  varied  modulation,  by 
firmer  notes,  by  more  complex  circuits,  than  suffice  30 


90  Johjt  Morley 

for  the  utmost  perfection  of  spoken  language,  which 
has  all  the  potent  and  manifold  aids  of  personality. 
In  writing,  whether  it  be  prose  or  verse,  you  are 
free   to  produce  effects  whose  peculiarity  one   can 

5  only  define  vaguely,  by  saying  that  the  senses  have 
one  part  less  in  them  than  in  any  other  of  the 
forms  and  effects  of  art,  and  the  imaginary  voice 
one  part  more.  But  the  question  need  not  be 
laboured   here,  because  there  can  be  no  dispute  as 

lo  to  the  quality  of  Macaulay's  prose.  Its  measures 
are  emphatically  the  measures  of  spoken  deliver- 
ance. Those  who  have  made  the  experiment,  pro- 
nounce him  to  be  one  of  the  authors  whose  works 
are  most  admirably  fitted  for  reading  aloud.       His 

15  firmness  and  directness  of  statement,  his  spirited- 
ness,  his  art  of  selecting  salient  and  highly  coloured 
detail,  and  all  his  other  merits  as  a  narrator,  keep 
the  listener's  attention,  and  make  him  the  easiest 
of  writers  to  follow. 

20  XX.  Although,  however,  clearness,  directness,  and 
positiveness  are  master  qualities  and  the  indispen- 
sable foundations  of  all  good  style,  yet  does  the 
matter  plainly  by  no  means  end  with  them.  And 
it  is  eyen  possible  to  have  these  virtues  so  unhap- 

25  pily  proportioned  and  inauspiciously  mixed  with  other 
turns  and  casts  of  mind,  as  to  end  in  work  with  little 
grace  or  harmony  or  fine  tracery  about  it,  but  only 
overweening  purpose  and  vehement  will.  And  it 
is  overweeningness  and   self-confident  will  that   are 

30  the   chief   notes   of    Macaulay's   style.      It   has   no 


Macaiday  91 

benignity.  Energy  is  doubtless  a  delightful  quality, 
but  then  Macaulay's  energy  is  perhaps  energy  with- 
out momentum,  and  he  impresses  us  more  by  a 
strong  volubility  than  by  volume.  It  is  the  energy 
of  interests  and  intuitions,  which  though  they  are  s 
profoundly  sincere  if  ever  they  were  sincere  in  any 
man,  are  yet  in  the  relations  which  they  compre- 
hend, essentially  superficial. 

XXI.  Still,  trenchancy  whether  in  speaker  or 
writer  is  a  most  effective  tone  for  a  large  public.  10 
It  .gives  them  confidence  in  their  man,  and  prevents 
tediousness  —  except  to  those  who  reflect  how  deli- 
cate is  the  poise  of  truth,  and  what  steeps  and  pits 
encompass  the  dealer  in  unqualified  propositions. 
To  such  persons,  a  writer  who  is  trenchant  in  15 
every  sentence  of  every  page,  who  never  lapses  for 
a  line  into  the  contingent,  who  marches  through  the 
intricacies  of  things  in  a  blaze  of  certainty,  is  not 
only  a  writer  to  be  distrusted,  but  the  owner  of  a 
doubtful  and  displeasing  style.  It  is  a  great  test  20 
of  style  to  watch  how  an  author  disposes  of  the 
qualifications,  limitations,  and  exceptions  that  clog 
the  wings  of  his  main  proposition.  The  grave  and 
conscientious  men  of  the  seventeenth  century  in- 
sisted on  packing  them  all  honestly  along  with  the  25 
main  proposition  itself,  within  the  bounds  of  a  single 
period.  Burke  arranges  them  in  tolerably  close 
order  in  the  paragraph.  Dr.  Newman,  that  winning 
writer,  disperses  them  lightly  over  his  page.  Of 
Macaulay  it  is  hardly  unfair  to  say  that  he  despatches  30 


92  Johi  Morley 

all  qualifications  into  outer  space  before  he  begins 
to  write,  or  if  he  magnanimously  admits  one  or  two 
here  and  there,'  it  is  only  to  bring  them  the  more 
imposingly  to  the  same  murderous  end. 

5  XXII.  We  have  spoken  of  Macaulay's  interests 
and  intuitions  wearing  a  certain  air  of  superficiality ; 
there  is  a  feeling  of  the  same  kind  about  his  attempts 
to  be  genial.  It  is  not  truly  festive.  There  is  no 
abandonment  in  it.     It  has  no  deep  root  in  moral 

lo  humour,  and  is  merely  a  literary  form,  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  the  hard  geniality  of  some  clever 
college  tutor  of  stiff  manners,  entertaining  under- 
graduates at  an  official  breakfast-party.  This  is  not 
because  his  tone  is  bookish  ;   on   the   contrary,  his 

15  tone  and  level  are  distinctly  those  of  the  man  of 
the  world.  But  one  always  seems  to  find  that 
neither  a  wide  range  of  cultivation,  nor  familiar 
access  to  the  best  Whig  ^^  circles,  had  quite  rerhoved 
the  stiffness  and  self-conscious  precision  of  the  Clap- 

20  ham  Sect.^^  We  would  give  much  for  a  httle  more 
flexibility,  and  would  welcome  ever  so  slight  a  con- 
sciousness of  infirmity.     As  has  been  said,  the  only 

^5  The  Whig  party  was  founded  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  It  stood  for  the  more  liberal  spirit  in  politics,  favoured  the 
Revolution  of  1688,  and  the  Reform  Bill  of  1832,  since  which  time  the 
name  has  been  more  commonly  Liberal.  The  party  was  made  up 
largely  of  the  middle  classes,  and  has  contained  such  men  as  Burke  and, 
under  the  name  Liberal,  Mr.  Gladstone. 

16  Macaulay  had  been  brought  up  by  his  parents  among  the  so- 
called  "  Clapham  Sect,"  which  took  its  name  from  the  suburb  of  Lon- 
don in  which  its  members  lived.  The  latter  were  noted  for  the 
strictness  and  austerity  of  their  manner  of  life.  , 


Macaulay  93 

people  whom  men  cannot  pardon  are  the  perfect. 
Macaulay  is  like  the  military  king  who  never  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  seen,  even  by  the  attendants  in 
his  bed-chamber,  until  he  had  had  time  to  put  on 
his  uniform  and  jack-boots.  His  severity  of  eye  is  5 
very  wholesome  ;  it  makes  his  writing  firm,  and 
firmness  is  certainly  one  of  the  first  qualities  that 
good  writing  must  have.  But  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  soft  and  considerate  precision,  as  well  as  hard 
and  scolding  precision.  Those  most  interesting  10 
English  critics  of  the  generation  slightly  anterior 
to  Macaulay,  —  Hazlitt,  Lamb,  De  Quincey,  Leigh 
Hunt,^^  —  were  fully  his  equals  in  precision,  and  yet 
they  knew  how  to  be  clear,  acute,  and  definite,  with- 
out that  edginess  and  inelasticity  which  is  so  con-  15 
spicuous  in  Macaulay's  criticisms,  alike  in  their 
matter  and  their  form. 

XXIII.  To  borrow  the  figure  of  an  old  writer, 
Macaulay's  prose  is  not  like  a  flowing  vestment  to 
his  thought,  but  like  a  suit  of  armour.  It  is  often  20 
splendid  and  glittering,  and  the  movement  of  the 
opening  pages  of  his  History  is  superb  in  its  dig- 
nity. But  that  movement  is  exceptional.  As  a  rule 
there  is  the  hardness,  if  there  is  also  often  the  sheen, 
of  highly-wrought  metal.  Or,  to  change  our  figure,  25 
his  pages  are   composed   as   a   handsome  edifice  is 

1'  Lamb,  the  oldest  of  the  group,  was  born  in  1775,  twenty-five  years 
before  Macaulay.  De  Quincey  and  Leigh  Hunt,  the  last  survivors  of 
the  group,  died  in  1859,  the  year  of  Macaulay's  death,  but,  unlike  him, 
were  not  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  their  greatest  literary  work. 


94  John  Morley 

reared,  not  as  a  fine  statue  or  a  frieze  **with  bossy 
sculptures  graven  "  grows  up  in  the  imaginative 
mind  of  the  statuary.  There  is  no  liquid  continu- 
ity, such  as  indicates  a  writer  possessed  by  his 
S  subject  and  not  merely  possessing  it.  The  periods 
are  marshalled  in  due  order  of  procession,  bright  and 
high-stepping ;  they  never  escape  under  an  impulse 
of  emotion  into  the  full  current  of  a  brimming 
stream.     What  is  curious  is  that  though   Macaulay 

lo  seems  ever  to  be  brandishing  a  two-edged  gleaming 
sword,  and  though  he  steeps  us  in  an  atmosphere  of 
belligerency,  yet  we  are  never  conscious  of  inward 
agitation  in  him,  and  perhaps  this  alone  would  debar 
him  from  a  place  among  the  greatest  writers.     For 

15  they,  under  that  reserve,  suppression,  or  manage- 
ment, which  is  an  indispensable  condition  of  the 
finest  rhetorical  art,  even  when  aiming  at  the  most 
passionate  effects,  still  succeed  in  conveying  to  their 
readers  a  thrilling  sense  of  the  strong  fires  that  are 

20  glowing  underneath.  Now  when  Macaulay  advances 
with  his  hectoring  sentences  and  his  rough  pistol- 
ling ways,  we  feel  all  the  time  that  his  pulse  is  as 
steady  as  that  of  the  most  practised  duellist  who 
ever  ate  fire.     He  is  too  cool  to  be  betrayed  into  a 

25  single  phrase  of  happy  improvisation.  His  pictures 
glare,  but  are  seldom  warm.-  Those  strokes  of 
minute  circumstantiality  which  he  loved  so  dearly, 
show  that  even  in  moments  when  his  imagination 
might  seem  to  be  moving  both   spontaneously  and 

30  ardently,  it  was  really  only  a  literary  instrument,  a 


Macaulay  95 

fashioning  tool  and  not  a  melting  flame.  Let  us 
take  a  single  example.  He  is  describing  the  trial 
of  Warren  Hastings. ^^  "  Every  step  in  the  proceed- 
ings," he  says,  "  carried  the  mind  either  backward 
through  many  troubled  centuries  to  the  days  when  s 
the  foundations  of  our  constitution  were  laid ;  or 
far  away  over  boundless  seas  and  deserts,  to  dusky 
nations  living  under  strange  stars,  worshipping 
strange  gods,  and  writing  strange  characters  from 
right  to  left."  The  odd  triviality  of  the  last  detail,  10 
its  unworthiness  of  the  sentiment  of  the  passage, 
leaves  the  reader  checked,  what  sets  out  as  a  fine 
stroke  of  imagination  dwindles  down  to  a  sort  of 
literary  conceit.  And  this  puerile  twist,  by  the 
way,  is  all  the  poorer,  when  it  is  considered  that  15 
the  native  writing  is  really  from  left  to  right,  and 
only  takes  the  other  direction  in  a  foreign,  that  is 
to  say,  a  Persian  alphabet.  And  so  in  other  places, 
even  where  the  writer  is  most  deservedly  admired 
for  gorgeous  picturesque  effect,  we  feel  that  it  is  only  20 
the  literary  picturesque,  a  kind  of  infinitely  glori- 
fied newspaper-reporting.  Compare,  for  instance, 
the  most  imaginative  piece  to  be  found  in  any  part 
of  Macaulay's  writings  with  that  sudden  and  lovely 
apostrophe  in  Carlyle,  after  describing  the  bloody  25 
horrors  that  followed  the  fall  of  the  Bastille  in 
1789: — "O  evening  sun  of  July,  how,  at  this  hour, 
thy  beams  fall  slant  on  reapers  amid  peaceful  woody 
fields ;  on  old  women  spinning  in  cottages ;  on  ships 

18  Essay  on  Warren  Hastings. 


96  John  Morley 

far  out  in  the  silent  main  ;  on  balls  at  the  Orangerie 
at  Versailles,  where  high-rouged  dames  of  the  Palace 
are  even  now  dancing  with  double-jacketed  Hussar 
officers;  —  and  also  on  this  roaring  Hell-porch  of  a 

5  Hotel  de  Ville ! "  Who  does  not  feel  in  this  the 
breath  of  poetic  inspiration,  and  how  different  it  is 
from  the  mere  composite  of  the  rhetorician's  imagi- 
nation, assiduously  working  to  order  ? 

XXIV.     This    remark    is    no    disparagement    of 

10  Macaulay's  genius,  but  a  classification  of  it.  We 
are  interrogating  our  own  impressions,  and  asking 
ourselves  among  what  kind  of  writers  he  ought  to 
be  placed.  Rhetoric  is  a  good  and  worthy  art, 
and  rhetorical  authors  are  often  more  useful,  more 

IS  instructive,  more  really  respectable  than  poetical 
authors.  But  it  is  to  be  said  that  Macaulay  as  a 
rhetorician  will  hardly  be  placed  in  the  first  rank, 
by  those  who  have  studied  both  him  and  the  great 
masters.     Once  more,  no  amount  of  embellishment 

20  or  emphasis  or  brilliant  figure  suffices  to  produce  this 
intense  effect  of  agitation  rigorously  restrained  ;  nor 
can  any  beauty  of  decoration  be  in  the  least  a  sub- 
stitute for  that  touching  and  penetrative  music, 
which  is  made  in  prose  by  the  repressed  trouble  of 

25  grave  and  high  souls.  There  is  a  certain  music,  we 
do  not  deny,  in  Macaulay,  but  it  is  the  music  of  a 
man  everlastingly  playing  for  us  rapid  solos  on  a 
silver  trumpet,  never  the  swelling  diapasons  of  the 
organ,    and   never   the   deep   ecstasies    of    the   four 

30  magic  strings.     That  so  sensible  a  man  as  Macaulay 


Macaulay  97 

should  keep  clear  of  the  modern  abomination  of 
dithyrambic  prose,^^  that  rank  and  sprawling  weed 
of  speech,  was  natural  enough ;  but  then  the  effects 
which  we  miss  in  him,  and  which,  considering  how 
strong  the  literary  faculty  in  him  really  was,  we  are  s 
almost  astonished  to  miss,  are  not  produced  by  dithy- 
ramb but  by  repression.  Of  course  the  answer  has 
been  already  given ;  Macaulay,  powerful  and  vigor- 
ous as  he  was,  had  no  agitation,  no  wonder,  no  tumult 
of  spirit  to  repress.  The  world  was  spread  out  clear  10 
before  him  ;  he  read  it  as  plainly  and  as  certainly 
as  he  read  his  books ;  life  was  all  an  affair  of  direct 
categoricals. 

XXV.    This  was  at  least  one  secret  of  those  hard 
modulations  and    shallow   cadences.      How   poor   is  15 
the  rhythm  of  Macaulay' s  prose  we  only  realise  by 
going  with  his  periods  fresh  in  our  ear  to  some  true 
master  of  harmony.     It  is  not  worth  while  to  quote 
passages  from  an  author  who  is  in  everybody's  library, 
and  Macaulay  is  always  so  much  like  himself  that  20 
almost   any  one  page  will  serve  for  an  illustration  . 
exactly  as  well  as  any  other.     Let  any  one  turn  to 
his  character  of  Somers,^^  for  whom  he  had  so  much 
admiration,  and  then   turn  to  Clarendon's  character 
of  Falkland ;  —  "a  person  of  such  prodigious  parts  25 
of  learning  and  knowledge,  of  that  inimitable  sweet- 
ness and  delight  in  conversation,  of  so  flowing  and 

19  The  phrase  dithyrambic  prose  is  applied  to  inflated  and  rhythmic 
forms  of  writing  and  even  to  the  so-called  "  fine-writing." 

20  History,  Chapter  XX. 

H 


98  John  Morley 

obliging  a  humanity  and  goodness  to  mankind,  and 
of  that  primitive  simplicity  and  integrity  of  life,  that 
if  there  were  no  other  brand  upon  this  odious  and 
accursed  civil  war  than  that  single  loss,  it  must  be 

S  most  infamous  and  execrable  to  all  posterity."  Now 
Clarendon  is  not  a  great  writer,  not  even  a  good 
writer,  for  he  is  prolix  and  involved,  yet  we  see  that 
even  Clarendon,  when  he  comes  to  a  matter  in  which 
his  heart  is  engaged,  becomes  sweet  and  harmonious 

10  in  his  rhythm.  If  we  turn  to  a  prose-writer  of  the 
very  first  place,  we  are  instantly  conscious  of  a  still 
greater  difference.  How  flashy  and  shallow  Macau- 
lay's  periods  seem,  as  we  listen  to  the  fine  ground- 
base  that  rolls  in  the  melody  of  the  following  passage 

15  of  Burke's,  and  it  is  taken  from  one  of  the  least 
ornate  of  all  his  pieces :  — 

You  will  not,  we  trust,  believe  that,  born  in  a  civilised  country, 
formed  to  gentle  manners,  trained  in  a  merciful  religion,  and 
living  in  enlightened  and  polished  times,  where  even  foreign 

20  hostility  is  softened  from  its  original  sternness,  we  could  have 
thought  of  letting  loose  upon  you,  our  late  beloved  brethren, 
these  fierce  tribes  of  savages  and  cannibals,  in  whom  the  traces 
of  human  nature  are  effaced  by  ignorance  and  barbarity.  We 
rather  wished  to  have  joined  with  you  in  bringing  gradually  that 

25  unhappy  part  of  mankind  into  civility,  order,  piety,  and  virtuous 
discipline,  than  to  have  confirmed  their  evil  habits  and  increased 
their  natural  ferocity  by  fleshing  them  in  the  slaughter  of  you, 
whom  our  wiser  and  better  ancestors  had  sent  into  the  wilder- 
ness with  the  express  view  of  introducing,  along  with  our  holy 

30  religion,  its  humane  and  charitable  manners.  We  do  not  hold 
that  all  things  are  lawful  in  war.  We  should  think  every  bar- 
barity, in   fire,  in  wasting,  in   murders,  in  tortures,  and  other 


Macaiday  99 

cruelties,  too  horrible  and  too  full  of  turpitude  for  Christian 
mouths  to  utter  or  ears  to  hear,  if  done  at  our  instigation,  by 
those  who  we  know  will  make  war  thus  if  they  make  it  at  all, 
to  be,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  as  if  done  by  ourselves.  We 
clear  ourselves  to  you  our  brethren,  to  the  present  age,  and  to  5 
future  generations,  to  our  king  and  our  country,  and  to  Europe, 
which  as  a  spectator,  beholds  this  tragic  scene,  of  every  part 
or  share  in  adding  this  last  and  worst  of  evils  to  the  inevitable 
mischiefs  of  a  civil  war. 

We  do  not  call  you  rebels  and  traitors.  We  do  not  call  for  10 
the  vengeance  of  the  crown  against  you.  We  do  not  know  how 
to  qualify  millions  of  our  countrymen,  contending  with  one  heart 
for  an  admission  to  privileges  which  we  have  ever  thought  our 
own  happiness  and  honour,  by  odious  and  unworthy  names. 
On  the  contrary,  we  highly  revere  the  principles  on  which  you  15 
act,  though  we  lament  some  of  their  effects.  Armed  as  you  are, 
we  embrace  you,  as  our  friends  and  as  our  brethren  by  the  best 
and  dearest  ties  of  relation. 

XXVI.    It   may  be  said   that   there  is   a   patent 
injustice    in    comparing    the    prose    of    a    historian  20 
criticising    or    describing    great    events    at    second 
hand,  with   the  prose  of   a  statesman  taking  active 
part    in    great    events,    fired    by    the    passion    of   a 
present  conflict,  and  stimulated  by  the  vivid  interest 
of  undetermined  issues.     If  this  be  a  well-grounded  25 
plea,  and  it  may  be  so,  then*  of  course  it  excludes  a 
contrast  not  only  with  Burke,  but  also  with  Boling- 
broke,  whose  fine  manners  and  polished  gaiety  give 
us    a    keen    sense    of    the    grievous    garishness    of 
Macaulay.     If  we  may  not    institute   a   comparison  30 
between  Macaulay  and  great  actors  on  the  stage  of 
affairs,  at   least   there  can  be  no  objection  to   the 


lOO  John  Morley 

introduction  of  Southey  as  a  standard  of  compari- 
son. Southey  was  a  man  of  letters  pure  and  simple, 
and  it  is  worth  remarking  that  Macaulay  himself  ad- 
mitted that  he  found  so  great  a  charm  in  Southey's 

5  style,  as  nearly  always  to  read  it  with  pleasure, 
even  when  Southey  was  talking  nonsense.  Now, 
take  any  page  of  the  Life  of  Nelson  or  the  Life 
of  Wesley ;  consider  how  easy,  smooth,  natural,  and 
winning  is  the  diction  and  the  rise  and  fall  of  the 

lo  sentence,  and  yet  how  varied  the  rhythm  and  how 
nervous  ^^  the  phrases ;  and  then  turn  to  a  page  of 
Macaulay,  and  wince  under  its  stamping  emphasis, 
its  over-coloured  tropes,  its  exaggerated  expressions, 
its    unlovely    staccato.       Southey's    History    of   the 

15  Peninsular  War  is  now  dead,  but  if  any  of  my 
readers  has  a  copy  on  his  highest  shelves,  I  would 
venture  to  ask  him  to  take  down  the  third  volume, 
and  read  the  concluding  pages,  of  which  Coleridge 
used  to  say  that   they  were  the  finest  specimen  of 

20  historic  eulogy  he  had  ever  read  in  English,  adding 
with  forgivable  hyperbole,  that  they  were  more  to 
the  Duke's  fame  and  glory  than  a  campaign.  **  Fore- 
sight and  enterprise  with  our  commander  went  hand 
in  hand ;   he  never  advanced  but  so  as  to  be  sure 

25  of  his  retreat ;  and  never  retreated  but  in  such  an 
attitude  as  to  impose  upon  a  superior  enemy,"  and 
so  on  through  the  sum  of  Wellington's  achieve- 
ments. "  There  was  something  more  precious  than 
these,  more  to  be  desired  than  the  high  and  endur- 

21  That  is,  marked  by  strength. 


Macaulay  loi 

ing  fame  which  he  had  secured  by  his  military 
achievements,  the  satisfaction  of  thinking  to  what 
end  those  achievements  had  been  directed ;  that 
they  were  for  the  deliverance  of  two  most  injured 
and  grievously  oppressed  nations ;  for  the  safety,  5 
honour,  and  welfare  of  his  own  country ;  and  for 
the  general  interests  of  Europe  and  of  the  civilised 
world.  His  campaigns  were  sanctified  by  the  cause ; 
they  were  sullied  by  no  cruelties,  no  crimes  ;  the 
chariot-wheels  of  his  triumphs  have  been  followed  10 
by  no  curses ;  his  laurels  are  entwined  with  the 
amaranths  of  righteousness,  and  upon  his  death-bed 
he  might  remember  his  victories  among  his  good 
works." 

XXVII.  What  is  worse  than  want  of  depth  and  15 
fineness  of  intonation  in  a  period,  is  all  gross  excess 
of  colour,  because  excess  of  colour  is  connected 
with  graver  faults  in  the  region  of  the  intellectual 
conscience.  Macaulay  is  a  constant  sinner  in  this 
respect.  The  wine  of  truth  is  in  his  cup  a  bran-  20 
died  draught,  a  hundred  degrees  above  proof,  and  he 
too  often  replenishes  the  lamp  of  knowledge  with 
naphtha  instead  of  fine  oil.  It  is  not  that  he  has  a 
spontaneous  passion  for  exuberant  decoration,  which 
he  would  have  shared  with  more  than  one  of  the  25 
greatest  names  in  literature.  On  the  contrary,  we 
feel  that  the  exaggerated  words  and  dashing  sen- 
tences are  the  fruit  of  deliberate  travail,  and  the 
petulance  or  the  irony  of  his  speech  is  mostly  due 
to  a   driving   predilection  for  strong  effects.       His  30 


102  John  Morley 

memory,  his  directness,  his  aptitude  for  forcing 
things  into  firm  outline,  and  giving  them  a  sharply 
defined  edge,  —  these  and  other  singular  talents  of 
his  all  lent  themselves  to  this  intrepid  and  indefati- 
5  gable  pursuit  of  effect.  And  the  most  disagreeable 
feature  is  that  Macaulay  was  so  often  content  with 
an  effect  of  an  essentially  vulgar  kind,  offensive  to 
taste,  discordant  to  the  fastidious  ear,  and  worst  of 
all,  at  enmity  with  the  whole  spirit  of   truth.      By 

lo  vulgar  we  certainly  do  not  mean  homely,  which 
marks  a  wholly  different  quality.  No  writer  can  be 
more  homely  than  Mr.  Carlyle,  alike  in  his  choice 
of  particulars  to  dwell  upon,  and  in  the  terms  or 
images  in  which   he  describes  or  illustrates   them, 

15  but  there  is  also  no  writer  further  removed  from 
vulgarity.  Nor  do  we  mean  that  Macaulay  too 
copiously  enriches  the  tongue  with  infusion  from 
any  Doric  dialect.22  For  such  raciness  he  had  little 
taste.     What  we  find  in  him  is  that  quality  which  the 

so  French  call  brutal.  The  description,  for  instance, 
in  the  essay  on  Hallam,  of  the  licence  of  the 
Restoration,  seems  to  us  a  coarse  and  vulgar  pict- 
ure, whose  painter  took  the  most  garish  colours  he 
could  find  on  his  palette,   and   then    laid   them   on 

25  in  untempered  crudity.  And  who  is  not  sensible 
of  the  vulgarity  and  coarseness  of  the  account  of 
Boswell.23     "If   he  had  not  been   a   great  fool    he 

22  The  Doric  dialect  was  deemed  less  pure  and  elegant  than  th^ 
Attic.     Here  the  phrase  means  slang. 

23  Croker^s  Edition  of  BosweWs  Life  of  Johnson. 


Macaulay  103 

would  not  have  been  a  great  writer  ...  he  was 
a  dunce,  a  parasite,  and  a  coxcomb,"  and  so  forth, 
in  which  the  shallowness  of  the  analysis  of  Bos- 
well's  character  matches  the  puerile  rudeness  of 
the  terms.  Here,  again,  is  a  sentence  about  Mon-  s 
tesquieu.2*  <'The  English  at  that  time,"  Macaulay 
says  of  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
"considered  a  Frenchman  who  talked  about  consti- 
tutional checks  and  fundamental  laws  as  a  prodigy 
not  less  astonishing  than  the  learned  pig  or  musi-  10 
cal  infant."  And  he  then  goes  on  to  describe  the 
author  of  one  of  the  most  important  books  that 
ever  were  written,  as  "specious  but  shallow,  studi- 
ous of  effect,  indifferent  to  truth  —  the  lively 
President,"  and  so  forth,  stirring  in  any  reader  15 
who  happens  to  know  Montesquieu's  influence,  a 
singular  amazement.  We  are  not  concerned  with 
the  judgment  upon  Montesquieu,  nor  with  the  truth 
as  to  contemporary  English  opinion  about  him,  but 
a  writer  who  devises  an  antithesis  to  such  a  man  20 
as  Montesquieu  in  learned  pigs  and  musical  infants, 
deliberately  condescends  not  merely  to  triviality  or 
levity,  but  to  flat  vulgarity  of  thought,  to  something 
of  mean  and  ignoble  association.  Though  one  of 
the  most  common,  this  is  not  Macaulay's  only  sin  25 
in  the  same  unfortunate  direction.  He  too  fre- 
quently resorts  to  vulgar  gaudiness.  For  example, 
there  is  in  one  place  a  certain  description  of  an 
alleged    practice  of   Addison's.      Swift   had  said  of 

2*  Essay  on  MachiavellL 


104  John  Morley 

Esther  Johnson  that  *' whether  from  easiness  in 
general,  or  from  her  indifference  to  persons,  or 
from  her  despair  of  mending  them,  or  from  the 
same  practice  which  she  most  liked  in  Mr.  Addison, 
5  I  cannot  determine  ;  but  when  she  saw  any  of  the 
company  very  warm  in  a  wrong  opinion,  she  was 
more  inclined  to  confirm  them  in  it  than  to  oppose 
them.  It  prevented  noise,  she  said,  and  saved 
time."  ^  Let  us  behold  what  a  picture^  Macaulay 
lo  draws  on  the  strength  of  this  passage.  "  If  his 
first  attempts  to  set  a  presuming  dunce  right  were 
ill-received,"  Macaulay  says  of  Addison,  "he  changed 
his  tone,  'assented  with  civil  leer,'  and  lured  the 
flattered  coxcomb  deeper  and  deeper  into  absurd- 
is  ity."  To  compare  this  transformation  of  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  original  into  the  grotesque  heat  and 
overcharged  violence  of  the  copy,  is  to  see  the 
homely  maiden  of  a  country  village  transformed 
into  the  painted  flaunter  of  the  city. 
20  XXVIII.  One  more  instance.  We  should  be 
sorry  to  violate  any  sentiment  of  to  aefivov  ^  about 
a  man  of  Macaulay's  genius,  but  what  is  a  decorous 
term  for  a  description  of  the  doctrine  of  Lucretius's 
great  poem,  thrown  in  parenthetically,  as  the  "sil- 
25  liest  and  meanest  system  of  natural  and  moral 
philosophy ! "     Even   disagreeable   artifices   of   com- 

25  Forster's  Swi/H,  I.  26$.  — Morley. 

26  T^g  Life  and  Writings  of  Addison. 

27  The  phrase  rh  aeiivbv  means  the  divine ;  here,  the  grand,   the 
majestic. 


Macaulay  105 

position  may  be  forgiven,  when  they  serve  to  vivify 
truth,  to  quicken  or  to  widen  the  moral  judgment, 
but  Macaulay's  hardy  and  habitual  recourse  to 
strenuous  superlatives  is  fundamentally  unscientific 
and  untrue.  There  is  no  more  instructive  example  5 
in  our  literature  than  he,  of  the  saying  that  the 
adjective  is  the  enemy  of  the  substantive. 

XXIX.  In  1837  Jeffrey  saw  a  letter  written  by 
Macaulay  to  a  common  friend,  and  stating  the  rea- 
sons for  preferring  a  literary  to  a  political  life.  10 
Jeffrey  thought  that  his  illustrious  ally  was  wrong 
in  the  conclusion  to  which  he  came.  **As  to  the 
tranquillity  of  an  author's  life,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no 
sort  of  faith  in  it.  And  as  to  fame,  if  an  author's 
is  now  and  then  more  lasting,  it  is  generally  longer  15 
withheld,  and  except  in  a  few  rare  cases  it  is  of  a 
less  pervading  or  elevating  description.  A  great 
poet  or  a  great  original  writer  is  above  all  other 
glory.  But  who  would  give  much  for  such  a  glory 
as  Gibbon's }  Besides,  I  believe  it  is  in  the  inward  20 
glow  and  pride  of  consciously  influencing  the  desti- 
nies of  mankind,  much  more  than  in  the  sense  of 
personal  reputation,  that  the  delight  of  either  poet 
or  statesman  chiefly  consists."  And  Gibbon  had  at 
least  the  advantage  of  throwing  himself  into  a  re-  25 
ligious  controversy  that  is  destined  to  endure  for 
centuries.  He,  moreover,  was  specifically  a  his- 
torian, while  Macaulay  has  been  prized  less  as  a 
historian  proper  than  as  a   master   of   literary   art. 


io6  Johi  Morley 

Now  a  man  of  letters,  in  an  age  of  battle  and  tran- 
sition like  our  own,  fades  into  an  ever-deepening 
distance,  unless  he  has  while  he  writes  that  touch- 
ing and   impressive    quality,  —  the   presentiment    of 

5  the  eve;  a  feeling  of  the  difficulties  and  interests 
that  will  engage  and  distract  mankind  on  the  morrow. 
Nor  can  it  be  enough  for  enduring  fame  in  any  age 
merely  to  throw  a  golden  halo  round  the  secularity 
of  the  hour,  or  to  make  glorious  the  narrowest  limi- 

lo  tations  of  the  passing  day.  If  we  think  what  a 
changed  sense  is  already  given  to  criticism,  what  a 
different  conception  now  presides  over  history,  how 
many  problems  on  which  Macaulay  was  silent  are 
now  the  familiar  puzzles  of  even  superficial  readers, 

15  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  the  eminent  man  whose 
life  we  are  all  about  to  read,  is  the  hero  of  a  past 
which  is  already  remote,  and  that  he  did  little  to 
make  men  better  fitted  to  face  a  present  of  which, 
close    as    it   was  to  him,  he  seems  hardly  to  have 

20  dreamed. 


IV 

J«attt)eto  ^rnollr 

Born  1822.    Died  1888 
THE  STUDY  OF  CELTIC  LITERATURE 

[The  series  of  lectures  on  The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature,  of 
which  sections  III.  and  IV.  are  given  below,  was  delivered,  as 
Arnold  says  in  the  introduction,  while  he  occupied  the  chair  of 
poetry  at  Oxford,  and  were  first  published  in  1867  in  the  Cornhill 
Magazine.  The  object  of  the  lectures  was,  as  Arnold  says,  "  not 
to  treat  any  special  branch  of  scientific  Celtic  studies,  .  .  .  but 
to  point  out  the  many  directions  in  which  the  results  of  those 
studies  offer  matter  of  general  interest,  and  to  insist  on  the 
benefit  we  may  all  derive  from  knowing  the  Celt  and  things 
Celtic  more  thoroughly."  Things  Celtic,  the  author  continues, 
have  always  been  regarded  by  the  Englishman  as  worthless 
because  altogether  removed  from  things  English.  The  quantities 
of  Celtic  literature  which  had  been  collected  by  the  devotion  of 
patriotic  Welshmen  and  Irishmen  had  been  the  object  of  so  much 
dilettanteism,  false  sentiment,  and  bad  sense  in  interpretation, 
on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other,  of  a  good  deal  of  harsh, 
unsympathetic  criticism,  that  the  study  of  it  in  its  bearings  on 
English  had  produced  no  results  worthy  of  the  subject.  That 
the  Celtic  and  the  Teutonic  races  are  in  general  more  closely 
united  than  was  first  thought,  has  been  shown  by  modern 
philological  and  physiological  research  ;  the  English  have  a  strain 
of  Celtic  in  their  speech  and  blood.  It  is  of  greater  importance 
to  distinguish  the  mental  qualities  of  these  races;  and  this  is 
done  in  the  following  selection  by  way  of  preparation  for  the  final 
result  —  the  tracing  of  the  Celtic  element  in  the  English  genius. 

The  text  is  that  of  the  standard  edition  of  Arnold's  works 
published  by  Messrs.  Macmillan  and  Company.] 

107 


loS  Matthew  Arnold 

I.  We  have  seen  how  philology  carries  us  towards 
ideas  of  affinity  of  race  which  are  new  to  us.  But 
it  is  evident  that  this  affinity,  even  if  proved,  can 
be  no  very  potent  affair,  unless  it  goes  beyond  the 
5  stage  at  which  we  have  hitherto  observed  it.  Affin- 
ity between  races  still,  so  to  speak,  in  their  mother's 
womb,  counts  for  something,  indeed,  but  cannot 
count  for  very  much.  So  long  as  Celt  and  Teuton 
are  in  their  embryo  rudimentary  state,  or,  at  least, 

lo  no  such  great  while  out  of  their  cradle,  still  engaged 
in  their  wanderings,  changes  of  place  and  struggle 
for  development,  so  long  as  they  have  not  yet 
crystallised  into  solid  nations,  they  may  touch  and 
mix  in  passing,  and  yet  very  little  come  of  it.     It  is 

IS  when  the  embryo  has  grown  and  solidified  into  a 
distinct  nation,  into  the  Gaul  or  German  of  history, 
when  it  has  finally  acquired  the  characters  which 
make  the  Gaul  of  history  what  he  is,  the  German 
of  history  what  he  is,  that  contact  and  mixture  are 

20  important,  and  may  leave  a  long  train  of  effects ; 
for  Celt  and  Teuton  by  this  time  have  their  formed, 
marked,  national,  ineffaceable  qualities  to  oppose  or 
to  communicate.  The  contact  of  the  German  of 
the  Continent  with  the  Celt  was  in  the  prehistoric 

25  times,  and  the  definite  German  type,  as  we  know 
it,  was  fixed  later,  and  from  the  time  when  it  became 
fixed  was  not  influenced  by  the  Celtic  type.  But 
here  in  our  country,  in  historic  times,  long  after 
the    Celtic   embryo   had    crystallised    into    the    Celt 

30  proper,  long  after  the  Germanic  embryo  had  crystal- 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  109 

lised  into  the  German  proper,  there  was  an  important 
contact  between  the  two  peoples;  the  Saxons  in- 
vaded the  Britons  and  settled  themselves  in  the 
Britons'  country.  Well,  then,  here  was  a  contact 
which  one  might  expect  would  leave  its  traces ;  if  s 
the  Saxons  got  the  upper  hand,  as  we  all  know 
they  did,  and  made  our  country  be  England  and 
us  be  English,  there  must  yet,  one  would  think, 
be  some  trace  of  the  Saxon  having  met  the  Briton ; 
there  must  be  some  Celtic  vein  or  other  running  10 
through  us.  Many  people  say  there  is  nothing  at 
all  of  the  kind,  absolutely  nothing ;  the  Saturday 
Review  treats  these  matters  of  ethnology  with  great 
power  and  learning,  and  the  Saturday  Review  says 
we  are  "a  nation  into  which  a  Norman  element,  15 
like  a  much  smaller  Celtic  element,  was  so  com- 
pletely absorbed  that  it  is  vain  to  seek  after  Nor- 
man or  Celtic  elements  in  any  modern  Englishman." 
And  the  other  day  at  Zurich  I  read  a  long  essay 
on  English  literature  by  one  of  the  professors  there,  20 
in  which  the  writer  observed,  as  a  remarkable  thing, 
that  while  other  countries  conquered  by  the  Ger- 
mans,—  France,  for  instance,  and  Italy,  —  had  ousted 
all  German  influence  from  their  genius  and  literature, 
there  were  two  countries,  not  originally  Germanic,  25 
but  conquered  by  the  Germans,  England  and  German 
Switzerland,  of  which  the  genius  and  the  literature 
were  purely  and  unmixedly  German ;  and  this  he 
laid  down  as  a  position  which  nobody  would  dream 
of  challenging.  30 


no  Matthew  Arnold 

II.  I  say  it  is  strange  that  this  should  be  so, 
and  we  in  particular  have  reason  for  inquiring 
whether  it  really  is  so ;  because  though,  as  I  have 
said,  even   as   a   matter   of   science  the  Celt  has  a 

5  claim  to  be  known,  and  we  have  an  interest  in 
knowing  him,  yet  this  interest  is  wonderfully  en- 
hanced if  we  find  him  to  have  actually  a  part 
in  us.  The  question  is  to  be  tried  by  external 
and  by  internal    evidence ;    the   language    and   the 

lo  physical  type  of  our  race  afford  certain  data  for 
trying  it,  and  other  data  are  afforded  by  our  litera- 
ture, genius,  and  spiritual  production  generally. 
Data  of  this  second  kind  belong  to  the  province 
of  the  literary  critic  ;   data  of  the  first  kind  to  the 

15  province  of  the  philologist  and  of  the  physiologist. 

III.  The  province  of  the  philologist  and  of  the 
physiologist  is  not  mine ;  but  this  whole  question 
as  to  the  mixture  of  Celt  with  Saxon  in  us  has 
been  so  little  explored,  people   have  been  so  prone 

20  to  settle  it  off-hand  according  to  their  prepossessions, 
that  even  on  the  philological  and  physiological  side 
of  it  I  must  say  a  few  words  in  passing.  Surely 
it  must  strike  with  surprise  any  one  who  thinks  of 
it,  to  find  that  without  any  immense    inpouring   of 

25  a  whole  people,  that  by  mere  expeditions  of  invad- 
ers having  to  come  over  the  sea,  and  in  no  greater 
numbers  than  the  Saxons,  so  far  as  we  can  make 
out,  actually  came,  the  old  occupants  of  this  island, 
the    Celtic    Britons,  should    have    been    completely 

30  annihilated,  or  even  so  completely  absorbed  that  it 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  iii 

is  vain  to  seek  after  Celtic  elements  in  the  exist- 
ing English  race.  Of  deliberate  wholesale  extermi- 
nation of  the  Celtic  race,  all  of  them  who  could 
not  fly  to  Wales  or  Scotland,  we  hear  nothing ; 
and  without  some  such  extermination  one  would  5 
suppose  that  a  great  mass  of  them  must  have 
remained  in  the  country,  their  lot  the  obscure  and, 
so  to  speak,  underground  lot  of  a  subject  race,  but 
yet  insensibly  getting  mixed  with  their  conquerors, 
and  their  blood  entering  into  the  composition  of  a  10 
new  people,  in  which  the  stock  of  the  conquerors 
counts  for  most,  but  the  stock  of  the  conquered, 
too,  counts  for  something.  How  little  the  triumph 
of  the  conqueror's  laws,  manners,  and  language, 
proves  the  extinction  of  the  old  race,  we  may  see  15 
by  looking  at  France ;  Gaul  was  Latinised  in  lan- 
guage, manners,  and  laws,  and  yet  her  people  re- 
mained essentially  Celtic.  The  Germanisation  of 
Britain  went  far  deeper  than  the  Latinisation  of 
France,  and  not  only  laws,  manners,  and  language,  20 
but  the  main  current  of  the  blood,  became  Ger- 
manic ;  but  how,  without  some  process  of  radical 
extirpation,  of  which,  as  I  say,  there  is  no  evidence, 
can  there  have  failed  to  subsist  in  Britain,  as  in 
Gaul,  a  Celtic  current  too  ?  The  indications  of  this  25 
in  our  language  have  never  yet  been  thoroughly 
searched  out ;  the  Celtic  names  of  places  prove 
nothing,  of  course,  as  to  the  point  here  in  ques- 
tion ;  they  come  from  the  prehistoric  times,  the 
times   before   the   nations,  Germanic  or  Celtic,  had  30 


112  Matthew  Arnold 

crystallised,  and  they  are  everywhere,  as  the  im- 
petuous Celt  was  formerly  everywhere,  —  in  the 
Alps,  the  Apennines,  the  Cevennes,  the  Rhine,  the 
Po,  as  well  as  in  the  Thames,  the  Humber,  Cum- 
5  berland,  London.  But  it  is  said  that  the  words  of 
Celtic  origin  for  things  having  to  do  with  every- 
day peaceful  life,  —  the  life  of  a  settled  nation, — 
words  like  basket  (to  take  an  instance  which  all 
the  world  knows),  form  a  much  larger  body  in  our 

lo  language  than  is  commonly  supposed ;  it  is  said 
that  a  number  of  our  raciest,  most  idiomatic,  popu- 
lar words  —  for  example,  bam^  kicky  whop,  twaddle y 
fudge,  hitch,  muggy,  —  are  Celtic.  These  assertions 
require    to    be    carefully    examined,  and    it    by    no 

15  means  follows  that  because  an  English  word  is 
found  in  Celtic,  therefore  we  get  it  from  thence ; 
but  they  have  not  yet  had  the  attention  which,  as 
illustrating  through  language  this  matter  of  the 
subsistence   and   intermingling   in    our   nation  of   a 

20  Celtic  part,  they  merit. 

IV.  Nor  have  the  physiological  data  which  illus- 
trate this  matter  had  much  more  attention  from 
us  in  England.  But  in  France,  a  physician,  half 
English    by   blood    though   a   Frenchman   by  home 

25  and  language,  Monsieur  W.  F.  Edwards,  brother  to 
Monsieur  Milne-Edwards,  the  well-known  zoologist, 
published  in  1839  ^  letter  to  Monsieur  Amed^e 
Thierry  with  this  title :  Des  Caracthes  Physiolo- 
giques   des   Races   Humaines   considMs   dans    leurs 

30  Rapports  avec  V Histoire.     The  letter  attracted  great 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  113 

attention  on  the  continent;  it  fills  not  much  more 
than  a  hundred  pages,  and  they  are  a  hundred 
pages  which  well  deserve  reading  and  rereading. 
Monsieur  Thierry  in  his  Histoire  des  Gaulois  had 
divided  the  population  of  Gaul  into  certain  groups,  5 
and  the  object  of  Monsieur  Edwards  was  to  try  this 
division  by  physiology.  Groups  of  men  have,  he 
says,  their  physical  type  which  distinguishes  them, 
as  well  as  their  language ;  the  traces  of  this  physi- 
cal type  endure  as  the  traces  of  language  endure,  10 
and  physiology  is  enabled  to  verify  history  by  them. 
Accordingly,  he  determines  the  physical  type  of 
each  of  the  two  great  Celtic  families,  the  Gaels 
and  the  Cymris,  who  are  said  to  have  been  dis- 
tributed in  a  certain  order  through  Gaul,  and  then  15 
he  tracks  these  types  in  the  population  of  France 
at  the  present  day,  and  so  verifies  the  alleged 
original  order  of  distribution.  In  doing  this,  he 
makes  excursions  into  neighbouring  countries  where 
the  Gaels  and  the  Cymris  have  been,  and  he  de-  20 
clares  that  in  England  he  finds  abundant  traces  of 
the  physical  type  which  he  has  established  as  the 
Cymric,  still  subsisting  in  our  population,  and  having 
descended  from  the  old  British  possessors  of  our 
soil  before  the  Saxon  conquest.  But  if  we  are  to  25 
believe  the  current  English  opinion,  says  Monsieur 
Edwards,  the  stock  of  these  old  British  possessors 
is  clean  gone.  On  this  opinion  he  makes  the 
following  comment  :  — 

V.    "■  In  the  territory  occupied  by  the  Saxons,  the  30 


114-  Matthew  Arnold 

Britons  were  no  longer  an  independent  nation,  nor 
even  a  people  with  any  civil  existence  at  all.  For 
history,  therefore,  they  were  dead,  above  all  for  his- 
tory as  it  was  then  written ;  but  they  had  not 
5  perished ;  they  still  lived  on,  and  undoubtedly  in 
such  numbers  as  the  remains  of  a  great  nation,  in 
spite  of  its  disasters,  might  still  be  expected  to  keep. 
That  the  Britons  were  destroyed  or  expelled  from 
England,  properly   so   called,  is,  as    I    have   said,  a 

lo  popular  opinion  in  that  country.  It  is  founded  on 
the  exaggeration  of  the  writers  of  history ;  but  in 
these  very  writers,  when  we  come  to  look  closely  at 
what  they  say,  we  find  the  confession  that  the  re- 
mains of   this   people  were   reduced   to   a   state   of 

15  strict  servitude.  Attached  to  the  soil,  they  will 
have  shared  in  that  emancipation  which  during  the 
course  of  the  Middle  Ages  gradually  restored  to 
political  life  the  mass  of  the  population  in  the  coun- 
tries of   Western   Europe ;    recovering  by  slow  de- 

20  grees  their  rights  without  resuming  their  name,  and 
rising  gradually  with  the  rise  of  industry,  they  will 
have  got  spread  through  all  ranks  of  society.  The 
gradualness  of  this  movement,  and  the  obscurity 
which  enwrapped    its  beginnings,  allowed    the   con- 

25  tempt  of  the  conqueror  and  the  shame  of  the  con- 
quered to  become  fixed  feehngs ;  and  so  it  turns  out, 
that  an  Englishman  who  now  thinks  himself  sprung 
from  the  Saxons  or  the  Normans,  is  often  in  reality 
the  descendant  of  the  Britons." 

30      VI.    So  physiology,  as  well  as  language,  incomplete 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  .115 

though  the  application  of  their  tests  to  this  matter 
has  hitherto  been,  may  lead  us  to  hesitate  before 
accepting  the  round  assertion  that  it  is  vain  to  search 
for  Celtic  elements  in  any  modern  Englishman.  But 
it  is  not  only  by  the  tests  of  physiology  and  language  s 
that  we  can  try  this  matter.  As  there  are  for  physi- 
ology physical  marks,  such  as  the  square  head  of 
the  German,  the  round  head  of  the  Gael,  the  oval 
head  of  the  Cymri,  which  determine  the  type  of  a 
people,  so  for  criticism  there  are  spiritual  marks  10 
which  determine  the  type,  and  make  us  speak  of  the 
Greek  genius,  the  Teutonic  genius,  the  Celtic  genius, 
and  so  on.  Here  is  another  test  at  our  service ; 
and  this  test,  too,  has  never  yet  been  thoroughly 
employed.  Foreign  critics  have  indeed  occasionally  15 
hazarded  the  idea  that  in  English  poetry  there  is  a 
Celtic  element  traceable;  and  Mr.  Morley,  in  his  very 
readable  as  well  as  very  useful  book  on  the  English 
writers  before  Chaucer,  has  a  sentence  which  struck 
my  attention  when  I  read  it,  because  it  expresses  20 
an  opinion  which  I,  too,  have  long  held.  Mr.  Mor- 
ley says  :  —  *'  The  main  current  of  English  literature 
cannot  be  disconnected  from  the  lively  Celtic  wit 
in  which  it  has  one  of  its  sources.  The  Celts  do 
not  form  an  utterly  distinct  part  of  our  mixed  popu-  25 
lation.  But  for  early,  frequent,  and  various  con- 
tact with  the  race  that  in  its  half-barbarous  days 
invented  Ossian's  dialogues  with  St.  Patrick,  and 
that  quickened  afterwards  the  Northmen's  blood  in 
France,  Germanic  England  would  not  have  produced  30 


Ii6  Matthew  Arnold 

a  Shakspeare."  But  there  Mr.  Morley  leaves  the 
matter.  He  indicates  this  Celtic  element  and  influ- 
ence, but  he  does  not  show  us,  —  it  did  not  come 
within  the  scope  of  his  work  to  show  us,  —  how 
5  this  influence  has  declared  itself.  Unlike  the  phys- 
iological test,  or  the  linguistic  test,  this  literary, 
spiritual  test  is  one  which  I  may  perhaps  be  allowed 
to  try  my  hand  at  applying.  I  say  that  there  is  a 
Celtic  element  in  the  English  nature,  as  well  as  a 

lo  Germanic  element,  and  that  this  element  manifests 
itself  in  our  spirit  and  literature.  But  before  I  try 
to  point  out  how  it  manifests  itself,  it  may  be  as 
well  to  get  a  clear  notion  of  what  we  mean  by  a 
Celtic  element,  a  Germanic  element ;  what  charac- 

15  ters,  that  is,  determine  for  us  the  Celtic  genius,  the 
Germanic  genius,  as  we  commonly  conceive  the  two. 

VII.  Let  me  repeat  what  I  have  often  said  of  the 
characteristics  which  mark  the  English  spirit,  the 
English  genius.     This  spirit,  this  genius,  judged,  to 

20  be  sure,  rather  from  a  friend's  than  an  enemy's 
point  of  view,  yet  judged  on  the  whole  fairly,  is 
characterised,  I  have  repeatedly  said,  by  energy 
with  honesty.  Take  away  some  of  the  energy  which 
comes  to  us,  as  I  believe,  in  part  from  Celtic  and 

25  Roman  sources  ;  instead  of  energy,  say  rather  stead- 
iness;  and  you  have  the  Germanic  genius :  steadi- 
ness with  honesty.  It  is  evident  how  nearly  the 
two  characterisations  approach  one  another ;  and 
yet   they   leave,    as    we   shall   see,  a   great  deal   of 


TJie  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  117 

room  for  difference.  Steadiness  with  honesty ;  the 
danger  for  a  national  spirit  thus  composed  is  the 
humdrum,  the  plain  and  ugly,  the  ignoble :  in  a 
word,  das  Gemeiney  die  Gemeinheit^  that  curse  of 
Germany,  against  which  Goethe  was  all  his  life  s 
fighting.  The  excellence  of  a  national  spirit  thus 
composed  is  freedom  from  whim,  flightiness,  per- 
verseness ;  patient  fidelity  to  Nature,  —  in  a  word, 
science, — leading  it  at  last,  though  slowly,  and  not 
by  the  most  brilliant  road,  out  of  the  bondage  of  10 
the  humdrum  and  common,  into  the  better  life. 
The  universal  dead-level  of  plainness  and  homeliness, 
the  lack  of  all  beauty  and  distinction  in  form  and 
feature,  the  slowness  and  clumsiness  of  the  lan- 
guage, the  eternal  beer,  sausages,  and  bad  tobacco,  15 
the  blank  commonness  everywhere,  pressing  at  last 
like  a  weight  on  the  spirits  of  the  traveller  in 
Northern  Germany,  and  making  him  impatient  to 
be  gone,  —  this  is  the  weak  side;  the  industry,  the 
well-doing,  the  patient  steady  elaboration  of  things,  20 
the  idea  of  science  governing  all  departments  of 
human  activity,  —  this  is  the  strong  side ;  and 
through  this  side  of  her  genius,  Germany  has 
already  obtained  excellent  results,  and  is  destined, 
we  may  depend  upon  it,  however  her  pedantry,  her  25 
slowness,  her  fumbling,  her  ineffectiveness,  her  bad 
government,  may  at  times  make  us  cry  out,  to  an 
immense  development.^ 

^It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  above  was  written  before  the 
recent  war  between  Prussia  and  Austria.  —  Arnold. 


Il8  Matthew  Arnold 

VIII.  For  dulnesSy  the  creeping  Saxons y  —  says  an 
old  Irish  poem,  assigning  thecharacteristics  for  which 
different  nations  are  celebrated  :  — 

For  acuteness  and  valour,  the  Greeks, 
S  For  excessive  pride,  the  Romans, 

For  dulness,  the  creeping  Saxons ; 
For  beauty  and  amorousness,  the  Gaedhils.^ 

We  have  seen  in  what  sense,  and  with  what  explana- 
tion, this   characterisation  of  the   German   may  be 

lo  allowed  to  stand  ;  now  let  us  come  to  the  beautiful 
and  amorous  Gaedhil.  Or  rather,  let  us  find  a  defi- 
nition which  may  suit  both  branches  of  the  Celtic 
family,  the  Cymri  as  well  as  the  Gael.  It  is  clear 
that  special  circumstances  may  have  developed  some 

IS  one  side  in  the  national  character  of  Cymri  or  Gael, 
Welshman  or  Irishman,  so  that  the  observer's  notice 
shall  be  readily  caught  by  this  side,  and  yet  it  may 
be  impossible  to  adopt  it  as  characteristic  of  the 
Celtic  nature  generally.     For  instance,  in  his  beau- 

20  tiful  essay  on  the  poetry  of  the  Celtic  races,  M. 
Renan,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Bretons  and  the 
Welsh,  is  struck  with  the  timidity,  the  shyness,  the 
delicacy  of  the  Celtic  nature,  its  preference  for  a 
retired  life,  its  embarrassment  at  having  to  deal  with 

25  the  great  world.  He  talks  of  the  douce  petite  race 
naturellement  chretienne,   his  race  fikre  et  timide,  a 

2  The  Gaedhils  or  Gadhels  were  that  branch  of  the  Celtic  race  which 
occupied  Ireland,  the  Isle  of  Man,  and  Scotland  at  the  close  of  the 
Saxon  Conquest,  and  are  distinguished  from  the  Cymry  of  Wales, 
Cornwall,  and  Brittany. 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  119 

Vext^rieur  gauche  et  embarrass^.  But  it  is  evident 
that  this  description,  however  well  it  may  do  for  the 
Cymri,  will  never  do  for  the  Gael,  never  do  for  the 
typical  Irishman  of  Donnybrook^  fair.  Again,  M. 
Renan's  infinie  delicatesse  de  sentiment  qui  caract^rise  s 
la  race  Celtique^  how  little  that  accords  with  the 
popular  conception  of  an  Irishman  who  wants  to 
borrow  money !  Sentiment  is,  however,  the  word 
which  marks  where  the  Celtic  races  really  touch  and 
are  one ;  sentimental,  if  the  Celtic  nature  is  to  be  10 
characterised  by  a  single  term,  is  the  best  term  to 
take.  An  organisation  quick  to  feel  impressions, 
and  feeling  them  very  strongly ;  a  lively  personality 
therefore,  keenly  sensitive  to  joy  and  to  sorrow ;  this 
is  the  main  point.  If  the  downs  of  life  too  much  15 
outnumber  the  ups,  this  temperament,  just  because 
it  is  so  quickly  and  nearly  conscious  of  all  impres- 
sions, may  no  doubt  be  seen  shy  and  wounded ;  it 
may  be  seen  in  wistful  regret,  it  may  be  seen  in  pas- 
sionate, penetrating  melancholy ;  but  its  essence  is  20 
to  aspire  ardently  after  life,  light,  and  emotion,  to  be 
expansive,  adventurous,  and  gay.  Our  word  gay^  it 
is  said,  is  itself  Celtic.  It  is  not  from  gaudium,  but 
from  the  Celtic  gair,  to  laugh  ;  *  and  the  impression- 

^  A  small  town  near  Dublin  at  which  for  six  centuries  (up  to  1855) 
fairs  were  held  in  August.  The  chief  characteristic  of  these  fairs  was 
rioting  of  a  mild  and  good-humoured  sort. 

*  The  etymology  is  Monsieur  Henri  Martin's,  but  Lord  Strangford 
says  :  — "  Whatever  gai  may  be,  it  is  assuredly  not  Celtic.  Is  there 
any  authority  for  this  word  gair,  to  laugh,  or  rather  *  laughter,'  beyond 
O'Reilly  ?     O'Reilly  is  no  authority  at  all  except  in  so  far  as  tested 


120  Matthew  Arnold 

able  Celt,  soon  up  and  soon  down,  is  the  more  down 
because  it  is  so  his  nature  to  be  up  —  to  be  sociable, 
hospitable,  eloquent,  admired,  figuring  away  brill- 
iantly.    He  loves  bright  colours,  he  easily  becomes 

5  audacious,  overcrowing,  full  of  fanfaronade.  The 
German,  say  the  physiologists,  has  the  larger  volume 
of  intestines  (and  who  that  has  ever  seen  a  German 
at  a  table-d'hote  will  not  readily  believe  this  i*),  the 
Frenchman  has  the  more  developed  organs  of  res- 

lo  piration.  That  is  just  the  expansive,  eager  Celtic 
nature ;  the  head  in  the  air,  snuffing  and  snorting  ; 
a  proud  look  and  a  high  stomachy  as  the  Psalmist 
says,  but  without  any  such  settled  savage  temper 
as   the    Psalmist    seems  to  impute  by  those  words. 

IS  For  good  and  for  bad,  the  Celtic  genius  is  more  airy 
and  unsubstantial,  goes  less  near  the  ground,  than 
the  German.  The  Celt  is  often  called  sensual ;  but 
it  is  not  so  much  the  vulgar  satisfactions  of  sense 
that  attract  him  as  emotion  and  excitement ;   he  is 

20  truly,  as  I  began  by  saying,  sentimental. 

IX.  Sentimental,  —  always  ready  to  react  against 
the  despotism  of  fact ;  that  is  the  description  a  great 
friend^  of  the  Celt  gives  of  him;  and  it  is  not  a 
bad  description  of  the  sentimental  temperament;  it 

and  passed  by  the  new  school.  It  is  hard  to  give  up  gavisus.  But 
Diez,  chief  authority  in  Romanic  matters,  is  content  to  accept  Mura- 
tori's  reference  to  an  old  High-German ^a/?;?,  modern  y^/^/?,  sharp,  quick, 
sudden,  brisk,  and  so  to  the  sense  of  lively,  animated,  high  in  spirits." 
—  Arnold. 

^  Monsieur  Henri  Martin,  whose  chapters  on  the  Celts,  in  his  His- 
ioire  de  France,  are  full  of  information  and  interest.  — Arnold. 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  121 

lets  us  into  the  secret  of  its  dangers  and  of  its 
habitual  want  of  success.  Balance,  measure,  and 
patience,  these  are  the  eternal  conditions,  even  sup- 
posing the  happiest  temperament  to  start  with,  of 
high  success;  and  balance,  measure,  and  patience  s 
are  just  what  the  Celt  has  never  had.  Even  in  the 
world  of  spiritual  creation  he  has  never,  in  spite  of 
his  admirable  gifts  of  quick  perception  and  warm 
emotion,  succeeded  perfectly,  because  he  never  has 
had  steadiness,  patience,  sanity  enough  to  comply  lo 
with  the  conditions  under  which  alone  can  expres- 
sion be  perfectly  given  to  the  finest  perceptions  and 
emotions.  The  Greek  has  the  same  perceptive, 
emotional  temperament  as  the  Celt;  but  he  adds 
to  this  temperament  the  sense  of  measure^  \  hence  15 
his  admirable  success  in  the  plastic  arts,  in  which 
the  Celtic  genius,  with  its  chafing  against  the 
despotism  of  fact,  its  perpetual  straining  after 
mere  emotion,  has  accomplished  nothing.  In  the 
comparatively  petty  art  of  ornamentation,  in  rings,  20 
brooches,  crosiers,  relic-cases,  and  so  on,  he  has 
done  just  enough  to  show  his  delicacy  of  taste,  his 
happy  temperament ;  but  the  grand  difficulties  of 
painting  and  sculpture,  the  prolonged  dealings  of 
spirit  with  matter,  he  has  never  had  patience  for.  25 
Take  the  more  spiritual  arts  of  music  and  poetry. 
All  that  emotion  alone  can  do  in  music  the  Celt 
has  done;   the  very  soul  of  emotion  breathes  in  the 

®  Moderation,  due  restraint;   cf.  the  well-known  phrases  with  meas- 
ure, beyond  measure. 


122  Matthew  Arnold 

Scotch  and  Irish  airs;  but  with  all  this  power  of 
musical  feeling,  what  has  the  Celt,  so  eager  for 
emotion  that  he  has  not  patience  for  science, 
effected  in  music,  to  be  compared  with  what  the 
5  less  emotional  German,  steadily  developing  his  mu- 
sical feeling  with  the  science  of  a  Sebastian  Bach 
or  a  Beethoven,  has  effected  ?  In  poetry,  again,  — 
poetry  which  the  Celt  has  so  passionately,  so  nobly 
loved;   poetry  where  emotion   counts  for  so   much, 

lo  but  where  reason,  too,  reason,  measure,  sanity,  also 
count  for  so  much,  —  the  Celt  has  shown  genius, 
indeed,  splendid  genius ;  but  even  here  his  faults 
have  clung  to  him,  and  hindered  him  from  produc- 
ing great  works,  such  as  other  nations  with  a  genius 

IS  for  poetry,  —  the  Greeks,  say,  or  the  Italians,  —  have 
produced.  The  Celt  has  not  produced  great  poeti- 
cal works,  he  has  only  produced  poetry  with  an  air 
of  greatness  investing  it  all,  and  sometimes  giving, 
moreover,  to  short  pieces,  or  to  passages,  lines,  and 

20  snatches  of  long  pieces,  singular  beauty  and  power. 
And  yet  he  loved  poetry  so  much  that  he  grudged 
no  pains  to  it;  but  the  true  art,  the  architectonic^ 
which  shapes  great  works,  such  as  the  Agamemnon 
or  the  Divine   Comedy ^  comes  only  after  a  steady, 

25  deep-searching  survey,  a  firm  conception  of  the  facts 
of  human  life,  which  the  Celt  has  not  patience  for. 
So  he  runs  off  into  technic,  where  he  employs  the 
utmost  elaboration,  and  attains  astonishing  skill;  but 
in  the  contents  of  his  poetry  you  have  only  so  much 
■^  Constructive  power. 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  123 

interpretation  of  the  world  as  the  first  dash  of  a 
quick,  strong  perception,  and  then  sentiment,  infinite 
sentiment,  can  bring  you.  Here,  too,  his  want  of 
sanity  and  steadfastness  has  kept  the  Celt  back 
from  the  highest  success.  S 

X.  If  his  rebellion  against  fact  has  thus  lamed 
the  Celt  even  in  spiritual  work,  how  much  more 
must  it  have  lamed  him  in  the  world  of  business 
and  politics  !  The  skilful  and  resolute  appliance  of 
means  to  ends  which  is  needed  both  to  make  pro-  10 
gress  in  material  civilisation  and  also  to  form  power- 
ful states,  is  just  what  the  Celt  has  least  turn  for. 
He  is  sensual,  as  I  have  said,  or  at  least  sensuous ; 
loves  bright  colours,  company,  and  pleasure ;  and 
here  he  is  like  the  Greek  and  Latin  races ;  but  com-  15 
pare  the  talent  the  Greek  and  Latin  (or  Latinised) 
races  have  shown  for  gratifying  their  senses,  for 
procuring  an  outward  life,  rich,  luxurious,  splendid, 
with  the  Celt's  failure  to  reach  any  material  civili- 
sation sound  and  satisfying,  and  not  out  at  elbows,  20 
poor,  slovenly,  and  half-barbarous.  The  sensuous- 
ness  of  the  Greek  made  Sybaris  and  Corinth,  the 
sensuousness  of  the  Latin  made  Rome  and  Baiae, 
the  sensuousness  of  the  Latinised  Frenchman  makes 
Paris ;  the  sensuousness  of  the  Celt  proper  has  made  25 
Ireland.  Even  in  his  ideal  heroic  times,  his  gay  and 
sensuous  nature  cannot  carry  him,  in  the  appliances 
of  his  favourite  life  of  sociability  and  pleasure,  be- 
yond the  gross  and  creeping  Saxon  whom  he  de- 
spises ;  the  regent  Breas,  we  are  told  in  the  Battle  of  30 


124-  Matthew  Arnold 

Moytura  of  the  Fomorians,  became  unpopular  because 
"the  knives  of  his  people  were  not  greased  at  his 
table,  nor  did  their  breath  smell  of  ale  at  the  ban- 
quet." In  its  grossness  and  barbarousness  is  not 
5  that  Saxon,  as  Saxon  as  it  can  be  ?  just  what  the 
Latinised  Norman,  sensuous  and  sociable  like  the 
Celt,  but  with  the  talent  to  make  this  bent  of  his 
serve  to  a  practical  embellishment  of  his  mode  of 
living,  found  so  disgusting  in  the  Saxon. 

lo  XL  And  as  in  material  civilisation  he  has  been 
ineffectual,  so  has  the  Celt  been  ineffectual  in  poli- 
tics. This  colossal,  impetuous,  adventurous  wan- 
derer, the  Titan  of  the  early  world,  who  in  primitive 
times  fills  so  large  a  place  on  earth's  scene,  dwindles 

IS  and  dwindles  as  history  goes  on,  and  at  last  is  shrunk 
to  what  we  now  see  him.  For  ages  and  ages  the 
world  has  been  constantly  slipping,  ever  more  and 
more,  out  of  the  Celt's  grasp.  "They  went  forth 
to    the  war,"    Ossian    says    most    truly,    ^' but   they 

20  always  fell!' 

XIL  And  yet,  if  one  sets  about  constituting  an 
ideal  genius,  what  a  great  deal  of  the  Celt  does 
one  find  oneself  drawn  to  put  into  it !  Of  an  ideal 
genius  one  does  not  want  the  elements,  any  of  them, 

25  to  be  in  a  state  of  weakness ;  on  the  contrary,  one 
wants  all  of  them  to  be  in  the  highest  state  of 
power ;  but  with  a  law  of  measure,  of  harmony, 
presiding  over  the  whole.  So  the  sensibility  of  the 
Celt,  if  everything  else  were  not  sacrificed  to  it,  is 

30  a  beautiful   and   admirable   force.       For   sensibility, 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  125 

the  power  of  quick  and  strong  perception  and  emo- 
tion, is  one  of  the  very  prime  constituents  of  genius, 
perhaps  its  most  positive  constituent ;  it  is  to  the 
soul  what  good  senses  are  to  the  body,  the  grand 
natural  condition  of  successful  activity.  Sensibility  5 
gives  genius  its  materials ;  one  cannot  have  too 
much  of  it,  if  one  can  but  keep  its  master  and  not 
be  its  slave.  Do  not  let  us  wish  that  the  Celt  had 
had  less  sensibility,  but  that  he  had  been  more  master 
of  it.  Even  as  it  is,  if  his  sensibility  has  been  a  10 
source  of  weakness  to  him,  it  has  been  a  source  of 
power  too,  and  a  source  of  happiness.  Some  peo- 
ple have  found  in  the  Celtic  nature  and  its  sensi- 
bility the  main  root  out  of  which  chivalry  and 
romance  and  the  glorification  of  a  feminine  ideal  15 
spring;  this  is  a  great  question,  with  which  I  can- 
not deal  here.  Let  me  notice  in  passing,  however, 
that  there  is,  in  truth,  a  Celtic  air  about  the  extrav- 
agance of  chivalry,  its  reaction  against  the  despotism 
of  fact,  its  straining  human  nature  further  than  it  20 
will  stand.  But  putting  all  this  question  of  chivalry 
and  its  origin  on  one  side,  no  doubt  the  sensibility 
of  the  Celtic  nature,  its  nervous  exaltation,  have 
something  feminine  in  them,  and  the  Celt  is  thus 
peculiarly  disposed  to  feel  the  spell  of  the  feminine  25 
idiosyncrasy ;  he  has  an  affinity  to  it ;  he  is  not  far 
from  its  secret.  Again,  his  sensibility  gives  him  a 
peculiarly  near  and  intimate  feeling  of  nature  and 
the  life  of  nature ;  here,  too,  he  seems  in  a  special 
way  attracted  by  the  secret  before  him,  the  secret  30 


126  Matthew  Arnold 

of  natural  beauty  and  natural  magic,  and  to  be  close 
to  it,  to  half-divine  it.  In  the  productions  of  the 
Celtic  genius,  nothing,  perhaps,  is  so  interesting  as 
the  evidences  of  this  power :  I  shall  have  occasion 
S  to  give  specimens  of  them  by  and  by.  The  same 
sensibility  made  the  Celts  full  of  reverence  and 
enthusiasm  for  genius,  learning,  and  the  things  of 
the  mind ;  to  be  a  bard,  freed  a  man,  —  that  is  a 
characteristic  stroke  of  this  generous  and  ennobling 

lo  ardour  of  theirs,  which  no  race  has  ever  shown 
more  strongly.  Even  the  extravagance  and  exag- 
geration of  the  sentimental  Celtic  nature  has  often 
something  romantic  and  attractive  about  it,  some- 
thing which    has    a    sort  of    smack   of   misdirected 

IS  good.  The  Celt,  undisciplinable,  anarchical,  and 
turbulent  by  nature,  but  out  of  affection  and  admi- 
ration giving  himself  body  and  soul  to  some  leader, 
that  is  not  a  promising  political  temperament,  it  is 
just  the  opposite  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  temperament, 

20  disciplinable  and  steadily  obedient  within  certain 
limits,  but  retaining  an  inalienable  part  of  freedom 
and  self-dependence ;  but  it  is  a  temperament  for 
which  one  has  a  kind  of  sympathy  notwithstanding. 
And  very  often,  for  the  gay  defiant  reaction  against 

25  fact  of  the  lively  Celtic  nature  one  has  more  than 
sympathy  ;  one  feels,  in  spite  of  the  extravagance, 
in  spite  of  good  sense  disapproving,  magnetised  and 
exhilarated  by  it.  The  Gauls  had  a  rule  inflicting 
a  fine  on  every  warrior  who,  when  he  appeared  on 

30  parade,  was  found  to  stick  out  much  in  front,  —  to 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  127 

be  corpulent,  in  short.  Such  a  rule  is  surely  the 
maddest  article  of  war  ever  framed,  and  to  people 
to  whom  nature  has  assigned  a  large  volume  of 
intestines,  must  appear,  no  doubt,  horrible;  but  yet 
has  it  not  an  audacious,  sparkling,  immaterial  man-  s 
ner  with  it,  which  lifts  one  out  of  routine,  and  sets 
one's  spirits  in  a  glow? 

XIII.  All  tendencies  of  human  nature  are  in 
themselves  vital  and  profitable ;  when  they  are 
blamed,  they  are  only  to  be  blamed  relatively,  not  10 
absolutely.  This  holds  true  of  the  Saxon's  phlegm 
as  well  as  of  the  Celt's  sentiment.  Out  of  the 
steady  humdrum  habit  of  the  creeping  Saxon,  as 
the  Celt  calls  him,  —  out  of  his  way  of  going  near 
the  ground, — has  come,  no  doubt,  Philistinism,  that  15 
plant  of  essentially  Germanic  growth,  flourishing 
with  its  genuine  marks  only  in  the  German  father- 
land, Great  Britain  and  her  colonies,  and  the  United 
States  of  America ;  but  what  a  soul  of  goodness 
there  is  in  Philistinism  itself !  and  this  soul  of  good-  20 
ness  I,  who  am  often  supposed  to  be  Philistinism's 
mortal  enemy  merely  because  I  do  not  wish  it  to 
have  things  all  its  own  way,  cherish  as  much  as 
anybody.  This  steady-going  habit  leads  at  last,  as 
I  have  said,  up  to  science,  up  to  the  comprehension  25 
and  interpretation  of  the  world.  With  us  in  Great 
Britain,  it  is  true,  it  does  not  seem  to  lead  so  far 
as  that ;  it  is  in  Germany,  where  the  habit  is  more 
unmixed,  that  it  can  lead  to  science.  Here  with  us 
it  seems  at  a  certain  point  to  meet  with  a  conflict-  30 


128  Matthew  Arnold 

ing  force,  which  checks  it  and  prevents  its  pushing 
on  to  science ;  but  before  reaching  this  point  what 
conquests  has  it  not  won  !  and  all  the  more,  per- 
haps, for   stopping  short  at  this  point,  for  spending 

S  its  exertions  within  a  bounded  field,  the  field  of 
plain  sense,  of  direct  practical  utility.  How  it  has 
augmented  the  comforts  and  conveniences  of  life  for 
us  !  Doors  that  open,  windows  that  shut,  locks  that 
turn,  razors  that  shave,  coats  that  wear,  watches  that 

lo  go,  and  a  thousand  more  such  good  things,  are  the 
invention  of  the  Philistines. 

XIV.  Here,  then,  if  commingling  there  is  in  our 
race,  are  two  very  unlike  elements  to  commingle  ; 
the  steady-going  Saxon  temperament  and  the  senti-. 

15  mental  Celtic  temperament.  But  before  we  go  on 
to  try  and  verify,  in  our  life  and  literature,  the  al- 
leged fact  of  this  commingling,  we  have  yet  another 
element  to  take  into  account,  the  Norman  element. 
The  critic  in   the   Saturday  Review^  whom   I    have 

20  already  quoted,  says  that  in  looking  for  traces  of 
Normanism  in  our  national  genius,  as  in  looking  for 
traces  of  Celtism  in  it,  we  do  but  lose  our  labour ; 
he  says,  indeed,  that  there  went  to  the  original 
making  of  our  nation  a  very  great  deal  more  of   a 

25  Norman  element  than  of  a  Celtic  element,  but  he 
asserts  that  both  elements  have  now  so  completely 
disappeared,  that  it  is  vain  to  look  for  any  trace  of 
either  of  them  in  the  modern  Englishman.  But  this 
sort  of  assertion  I  do  not  like  to  admit  without  try- 

30  ing  it  a  little.     I  want,  therefore,  to  get  some  plain 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  129 

notion  of  the  Norman  habit  and  genius,  as  I  have 
sought  to  get  some  plain  notion  of  the  Saxon  and 
Celtic.  Some  people  will  say  that  the  Normans  are 
Teutonic,  and  that  therefore  the  distinguishing  char- 
acters of  the  German  genius  must  be  those  of  their  5 
genius  also  ;  but  the  matter  cannot  be  settled  in 
this  speedy  fashion.  No  doubt  the  basis  of  the 
Norman  race  is  Teutonic,  but  the  governing  point 
in  the  history  of  the  Norman  race,  —  so  far,  at  least, 
as  we  English  have  to  do  with  it,  —  is  not  its  Teu-  10 
tonic  origin,  but  its  Latin  civilisation.  The  French 
people  have,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  an  un- 
doubtedly Celtic  basis,  yet  so  decisive  in  its  effect 
upon  a  nation's  habit  and  character  can  be  the  con- 
tact with  a  stronger  civiUsation,  that  Gaul,  without  15 
changing  the  basis  of  her  blood,  became,  for  all 
practical  intents  and  purposes,  a  Latin  country, 
France  and  not  Ireland,  through  the  Roman  con- 
quest. Latinism  conquered  Celtism  in  her,  as  it 
also  conquered  the  Germanism  imported  by  the  20 
Frankish  and  other  invasions  ;  Celtism  is,  however, 
I  need  not  say,  everywhere  manifest  still  in  the 
French  nation  ;  even  Germanism  is  distinctly  trace- 
able in  it,  as  any  one  who  attentively  compares  the 
French  with  other  Latin  races  will  see.  No  one  25 
can  look  carefully  at  the  French  troops  in  Rome, 
amongst  the  Italian  population,  and  not  perceive 
this  trace  of  Germanism  ;  I  do  not  mean  in  the 
Alsatian  soldiers  only,  but  in  the  soldiers  of  genuine 
France.     But  the  governing  character  of  France,  as  30 

K 


130  Matthew  Arnold 

a  power  in  the  world,  is  Latin ;  such  was  the  force 
of  Greek  and  Roman  civilisation  upon  a  race  whose 
whole  mass  remained  Celtic,  and  where  the  Celtic 
language  still  lingered  on,  they  say,  among  the  com- 
s  mon  people,  for  some  five  or  six  centuries  after  the 
Roman  conquest.  But  the  Normans  in  Neustria 
lost  their  old  Teutonic  language  in  a  wonderfully 
short  time ;  when  they  conquered  England  they 
were  already  Latinised  ;  with  them  were  a  number 

10  of  Frenchmen  by  race,  men  from  Anjou  and  Poitou, 
so  they  brought  into  England  more  non-Teutonic 
blood,  besides  what  they  had  themselves  got  by 
intermarriage,  than  is  commonly  supposed  ;  the  great 
point,  however,  is,  that  by  civilisation  this  vigorous 

IS  race,  when  it  took  possession  of  England,  was  Latin. 
XV.  These  Normans,  who  in  Neustria  had  lost 
their  old  Teutonic  tongue  so  rapidly,  kept  in  Eng- 
land their  new  Latin  tongue  for  some  three  centu- 
ries.     It    was    Edward    the    Third's    reign    before 

20  English  came  to  be  used  in  law-pleadings  and 
spoken  at  court.  Why  this  difference }  Both  in 
Neustria  and  in  England  the  Normans  were  a  hand- 
ful ;  but  in  Neustria,  as  Teutons,  they  were  in  con- 
tact with    a   more  advanced  civilisation  than    their 

25  own  ;  in  England,  as  Latins,  with  a  less  advanced. 
The  Latinised  Normans  in  England  had  the  sense 
for  fact,  which  the  Celts  had  not ;  and  the  love  of 
strenuousness,  clearness,  and  rapidity,  the  high  Latin 
spirit,  which  the  Saxons  had  not.      They  hated  the 

30  slowness  and  dulness  of  the  creeping  Saxon  ;  it  of- 


The  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  131 

fended  their  clear,  strenuous  talent  for  affairs,  as  it 
offended  the  Celt's  quick  and  delicate  perception. 
The  Normans  had  the  Roman  talent  for  affairs,  the 
Roman  decisiveness  in  emergencies.  They  have 
been  called  prosaic,  but  this  is  not  a  right  word  for  5 
them ;  they  were  neither  sentimental,  nor,  strictly 
speaking,  poetical.  They  had  more  sense  for  rhet- 
oric than  for  poetry,  like  the  Romans  ;  but,  like 
the  Romans,  they  had  too  high  a  spirit  not  to 
like  a  noble  intellectual  stimulus  of  some  kind,  10 
and  thus  they  were  carried  out  of  the  region  of 
the  merely  prosaic.  Their  foible, — the  bad  excess 
of  their  characterising  quality  of  strenuousness, 
—  was  not  a  prosaic  flatness,  it  was  hardness  and 
insolence.  15 

XVI.  I  have  been  obliged  to  fetch  a  very  wide 
circuit,  but  at  last  I  have  got  what  I  went  to  seek. 
I  have  got  a  rough,  but,  I  hope,  clear  notion  of 
these  three  forces,  the  Germanic  genius,  the  Celtic 
genius,  the  Norman  genius.  The  Germanic  genius  20 
has  steadiness  as  its  main  basis,  with  commonness 
and  humdrum  for  its  defect,  fidelity  to  nature  for 
its  excellence.  The  Celtic  genius,  sentiment  as  its 
main  basis,  with  love  of  beauty,  charm,  and  spiritu- 
ality for  its  excellence,  ineffectualness  and  self-will  25 
for  its  defect.  The  Norman  genius,  talent  for  affairs 
as  its  main  basis,  with  strenuousness  and  clear  rapid- 
ity for  its  excellence,  hardness  and  insolence  for  its 
defect.  And  now  to  try  and  trace  these  in  the 
composite  English  genius.  30 


132  Matthew  Arnold 

[So  it  is,  the  essay  goes  on,  that  the  English,  —  at  bottom  a 
German  people, — just  as  they  get  from  the  Normans  a  sense  of 
quick  perception  and  a  feeling  for  rhetoric,  receive  from  Celtic 
influence  certain  traits  which  separate  them  from  the  Germans 
and  the  Latin  races  in  art,  religion,  and  manners.  The  art  of 
the  English  is  characterised  by  charm  and  fancy  rather  than 
grasp  and  completeness ;  the  religion,  by  more  emotion  than 
is  common  to  Germanic  nations ;  the  manners,  by  a  certain 
awkwardness  and  hesitation.  Chiefly  in  literature,  and,  of  litera- 
ture, in  poetry,  is  this  Celtic  influence  most  clearly  to  be  seen : 
English  poetry  gets  from  a  Celtic  source  some  of  its  un-Germanic 
turn  for  style,  much  of  its  "  titanic"  melancholy,  and  "  nearly  all 
its  natural  magic."  So  far,  then,  from  being  "aliens  in  speech, 
in  religion,  in  blood,"  the  Celts  have  contributed  elements  to  the 
English  nation  the  recognition  and  right  interpretation  of  which 
will  teach  the  English  people  better  to  understand  not  only  their 
poetry  but  their  other  activities  as  well.] 


Sames  33rgce 

Born  1838 
THE  STRENGTH  OP  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

[Mr.  Bryce's  analysis  of  the  strength  of  American  democracy 
forms  Chapter  XCIX.  of  the  third  edition  of  The  American 
Cotnjnotiwealth  (Macmillan  and  Company,  1895).  It  follows 
directly  two  chapters  entitled  The  Supposed  Faults  of  Democ- 
racy (XCVII.)  and  The  True  Faults  of  American  Democracy 
(XCVIIL),  and  with  them  forms  a  larger  unit.  The  American 
Co7Jimonwealth  was  first  published  in  1888. 

In  the  selection  as  printed  the  numerals  which  appear  in  the 
edition  of  1895  opposite  paragraphs  II.,  IV.,  V.,  VI.,  VII.,  XL, 
and  XIV.,  to  indicate  the  seven  general  heads  of  the  chapter, 
are  omitted,  since  the  division  is  clear  without  them.] 

I.  Those  merits  of  American  government  which 
belong  to  its  Federal  Constitution  have  already  been 
discussed  :  ^  we  have  now  to  consider  such  as  flow 
from  the  rule  of  public  opinion,  from  the  temper, 
habits,  and  ideas  of  the  people.  5 

II.  The  first  is  that  of  Stability. — As  one  test 
of  a  human  body's  soundness  is  its  capacity  for 
reaching  a  great  age,  so  it  is  high  praise  for  a 
political  system  that  it  has  stood  no  more  changed 
than    any    institution    must    change   in   a   changing  10 

1  See  Chapters  XXVII.-XXX.  in  Vol.  I.  —  Bryce, 
133 


134  James  Bryce 

world,  and  that  it  now  gives  every  promise  of  dura- 
bility. The  people  are  profoundly  attached  to  the 
form  which  their  national  life  has  taken.  The  Fed- 
eral Constitution  is,  to  their  eyes,  an  almost  sacred 

5  thing,  an  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  whereon  no  man 
may  lay  rash  hands.  All  over  Europe  one  hears 
schemes  of  radical  change  freely  discussed.  There 
is  a  strong  monarchical  party  in  France,  a  republican 
party  in  Italy  and  Spain,  a  social  democratic  party 

lo  everywhere,  not  to  speak  of  sporadic  anarchist 
groups.  Even  in  England,  it  is  impossible  to  feel 
confident  that  any  one  of  the  existing  institutions 
of  the  country  will  be  standing  fifty  years  hence. 
But  in  the  United  States  the  discussion  of  political 

IS  problems  busies  itself  with  details,  so  far  as  the 
native  Americans  are  concerned,  and  assumes  that 
the  main  lines  must  remain  as  they  are  for  ever. 
This  conservative  spirit,  jealously  watchful  even  in 
small  matters,  sometimes  prevents  reforms,   but   it 

20  assures  to  the  people  an  easy  mind,  and  a  trust  in 
their  future  which  they  feel  to  be  not  only  a  present 
satisfaction,  but  a  reservoir  of  strength. 

III.    The  best  proof  of  the  well-braced  solidity  o|^ 
the  system  is  that  it  survived  the  Civil  War,  changed 

25  only  in  a  few  points  which  have  not  greatly  affected 
the  balance  of  National  and  State  powers.  Another 
must  have  struck  every  European  traveller  who  ques- 
tions American  publicists  about  the  institutions  of 
their  country.     When  I  first  travelled  in  the  United 

30  States,  I  used  to  ask  thoughtful   men,  superior  to 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        135 

the  prejudices  of  custom,  whether  they  did  not  think 
the  States*  system  defective  in  such  and  such  points, 
whether  the  legislative  authority  of  Congress  might 
not  profitably  be  extended,  whether  the  suffrage 
ought  not  to  be  restricted  as  regards  negroes  or  s 
immigrants,  and  so  forth.  Whether,  assenting  or 
dissenting,  the  persons  questioned  invariably  treated 
such  matters  as  purely  speculative,  saying  that  the 
present  arrangements  were  too  deeply  rooted  for 
their  alteration  to  come  within  the  horizon  of  prac-  ic 
tical  politics.  So  when  a  serious  trouble  arises, 
such  as  might  in  Europe  threaten  revolution,  the 
people  face  it  quietly,  and  assume  that  a  tolerable 
solution  will  be  found.  At  the  disputed  election  of 
1876,  when  each  of  the  two  great  parties,  heated  15 
with  conflict,  claimed  that  its  candidate  had  been 
chosen  President,  and  the  Constitution  supplied  no 
way  out  of  the  difficulty,  public  tranquillity  was 
scarcely  disturbed,  and  the  public  funds  fell  but 
little.  A  method  was  invented^  of  settling  the  ques-  20 
tion  which  both  sides  acquiesced  in,  and  although 
the  decision  was  a  boundless  disappointment  to  the 
party  which  had  cast  the  majority  of  the  popular 
vote,  that  party  quietly  submitted  to  lose  those 
spoils  of  office  whereon  its  eyes  had  been  feasting.  25 

IV.  Feeling  the  law  to  be  their  own  work,  the 
people  are  disposed  to  obey  the  law.  —  In  a  preced- 

2  The  so-called  Electoral  Commission,  which  chose  Hayes,  though 
he  had  received  upwards  of  200,000  votes  less  than  Tilden,  the  Demo- 
cratic candidate. 


136  James  Bryce 

ing  chapter^  I  have  examined  occasional  instances 
of  the  disregard  of  the  law,  and  the  supersession 
of  its  tardy  methods  by  the  action  of  the  crowd. 
Such  instances  do  not  deprive  the  Americans  of 
5  the  credit  they  claim  to  be  a  law-abiding  commu- 
nity. It  is  the  best  result  that  can  be  ascribed  to 
the  direct  participation  of  the  people  in  their  gov- 
ernment that  they  have  the  love  of  the  maker  for 
his  work,  that  every  citizen  looks  upon  a  statute  as 

10  a  regulation  made  by  himself  for  his  own  guidance 
no  less  than  for  that  of  others,  every  official  as  a 
person  he  has  himself  chosen,  and  whom  it  is  there- 
fore his  interest,  with  no  disparagement  to  his  per- 
sonal independence,  to  obey.       Plato   thought   that 

15  those  who  felt  their  own  sovereignty  would  be  im- 
patient of  all  control:  nor  is  it  to  be  denied  that 
the  principle  of  equality  may  result  in  lowering  the 
status  and  dignity  of  a  magistrate.  But  as  regards 
law  and  order  the  gain  much  exceeds  the  loss,  for 

20  every  one  feels  that  there  is  no  appeal  from  the 
law,  behind  which  there  stands  the  force  of  the 
nation.  Such  a  temper  can  exist  and  bear  these 
fruits  only  where  minorities,  however  large,  have 
learned   to    submit    patiently  to  majorities,  however 

25  small.  But  that  is  the  one  lesson  which  the  Ameri- 
can government  through  every  grade  and  in  every 
department  daily  teaches,  and  which  it  has  woven 
into  the  texture  of  every  citizen's  mind.  The  habit 
of  living  under  a  rigid  constitution  superior  to  ordi- 

3  Chapter  XCVII.,  third  edition. 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        13/ 

nary  statutes  —  indeed  two  rigid  constitutions,  since 
the  State  Constitution  is  a  fundamental  law  within 
its  own  sphere  no  less  than  is  the  Federal  —  inten- 
sifies this  legality  of  view,  since  it  may  turn  all  sorts 
of  questions  which  have  not  been  determined  by  a  5 
direct  vote  of  the  people  into  questions  of  legal 
construction.  It  even  accustoms  people  to  submit 
to  see  their  direct  vote  given  in  the  enactment  of 
a  State  Constitution  nullified  by  the  decision  of  a 
court  holding  that  the  Federal  Constitution  has  10 
been  contravened.  Every  page  of  American  history 
illustrates  the  wholesome  results.  The  events  of 
the  last  few  years  present  an  instance  of  the  con- 
straint which  the  people  put  on  themselves  in  order 
to  respect  every  form  of  law.  The  Mormons,  a  com-  15 
munity  not  exceeding  140,000  persons,  persistently 
defied  all  the  efforts  of  Congress  to  root  out  polyg- 
amy, a  practice  eminently  repulsive  to  American 
notions.  If  they  inhabited  a  State,  Congress  could 
not  have  interfered  at  all,  but  as  Utah  is  only  a  20 
Territory,  Congress  has  not  only  a  power  of  legis- 
lating for  it  which  overrides  Territorial  ordinances 
passed  by  the  local  legislature,  but  the  right  to 
apply  military  force  independent  of  local  authorities. 
Thus  the  Mormons  were  really  at  the  mercy  of  the  25 
Federal  government,  had  it  chosen  to  employ  violent 
methods.  But  by  entrenching  themselves  behind 
the  letter  of  the  Constitution,  they  continued  for 
many  years  to  maintain  their  "peculiar  institution" 
by  evading  the  statutes  passed  against  it  and  chal-  30 


138  James  Bryce 

lenging  a  proof  which  under  the  common  law  rules 
of  evidence  it  was  usually  found  impossible  to  give. 
Declaimers  hounded  on  Congress  to  take  arbitrary 
means  for  the  suppression  of  the  practice,  but  Con- 
5  gress  and  the  executive  submitted  to  be  outwitted 
rather  than  depart  from  the  accustomed  principles 
of  legislation,  and  succeeded  at  last  only  by  a  statute 
whose  searching  but  strictly  constitutional  provisions 
the  recalcitrants  failed  to  evade.      The  same  spirit 

10  of  legality  shows  itself  in  misgoverned  cities.  Even 
where  it  is  notorious  that  officials  have  been  Chosen 
by  the  grossest  fraud  and  that  they  are  robbing 
the  city,  the  body  of  the  people,  however  indignant, 
recognise  the  authority,  and  go  on  paying  the  taxes 

IS  which  a  Ring  levies,  because  strict  legal  proof  of  the 
frauds  and  robberies  is  not  forthcoming.  Wrong- 
doing supplies  a  field  for  the  display  of  virtue. 

V.    There  is  a  broad  simplicity  about  the  political 
ideas  of  the  people,  and  a  courageous  consistency  in 

20  carrying  them  out  in  practice.  When  they  have 
accepted  a  principle,  they  do  not  shrink  from  apply- 
ing it  "  right  along,"  however  disagreeable  in  particu- 
lar cases  some  of  the  results  may  be.  I  am  far  from 
meaning  that  they  are  logical  in  the  French  sense 

25  of  the  word.  They  have  little  taste  either  for  assum- 
ing abstract  propositions  or  for  syllogistically  deduc- 
ing practical  conclusions  therefrom.  But  when  they 
have  adopted  a  general  maxim  of  policy  or  rule  of 
action  they  show  more  faith  in  it  than  the  English 

30  for  instance  would  do,  they  adhere  to  it  where  the 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        139 

English  would  make  exceptions,  they  prefer  certainty 
and  uniformity  to  the  advantages  which  might  occa- 
sionally be  gained  by  deviation.*  If  this  tendency 
is  partly  the  result  of  obedience  to  a  rigid  constitu- 
tion, it  is  no  less  due  to  the  democratic  dislike  of  5 
exceptions  and  complexities,  which  the  multitude 
finds  not  only  difficult  of  comprehension  but  disquiet- 
ing to  the  individual  who  may  not  know  how  they 
will  affect  him.  Take  for  instance  the  boundless 
freedom  of  the  press.  There  are  abuses  obviously  10 
incident  to  such  freedom,  and  these  abuses  have  not 
failed  to  appear.  But  the  Americans  deliberately 
hold  that  in  view  of  the  benefits  which  such  freedom 
on  the  whole  promises,  abuses  must  be  borne  with 
and  left  to  the  sentiment  of  the  people  and  the  15 
private  law  of  libel  to  deal  with.  When  the  Ku 
Klux^  outrages  disgraced  several  of  the  Southern 
States  after  the  military  occupation  of  those  States 
had  ceased,  there  was  much  to  be  said  for  sending 
back  the  troops  to  protect  the  negroes  and  Northern  20 


*  What  has  been  said  (Chapters  XLIV.  and  XLV.)  of  special  and 
local  legislation  by  the  State  legislatures  may  seem  an  exception  to 
this  rule.  Such  legislation,  however,  is  usually  procured  in  the  dark 
and  by  questionable  means. 

Looking  both  to  the  National  and  to  the  State  governments,  it  may 
be  said  that,  with  a  few  exceptions,  no  people  has  shown  a  greater 
regard  for  public  obligations,  and  that  no  people  has  more  prudently 
and  honourably  refrained  from  legislation  bearing  hardly  upon  the  rich, 
or  indeed  upon  any  class  whatever.  —  Bryce. 

5  The  Ku  Klux  Klan  originated  in  the  South  in  1867,  and  until  its 
suppression  by  the  "Force  Bill"  of  1871,  which  restored  right  of  pro- 
tection to  the  South,  was  guilty  of  many  outrages  against  the  negroes. 


140  James  Bryce 

immigrants.  But  the  general  judgment  that  things 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  take  their  natural  course 
prevailed ;  and  the  result  justified  this  policy,  for 
the  outrages  after  a  while  died  out,  when  ordinary 
5  self-government  had  been  restored.  When  recently 
a  gigantic  organisation  of  unions  of  working  men, 
purporting  to  unite  the  whole  of  American  labour, 
attempted  to  enforce  its  sentences  against  particular 
firms   or   corporations   by   a    boycott    in    which    all 

lo  labourers  were  urged  to  join,  there  was  displeasure, 
but  no  panic,  no  call  for  violent  remedies.  The  pre- 
vailing faith  in  liberty  and  in  the  good  sense  of  the 
mass  was  unshaken  ;  and  the  result  soon  justified 
this  tranquil  faith.     Such  a  tendency  is  not  an  un- 

15  mixed  blessing,  for  it  sometimes  allows  evils  to  go 
too  long  unchecked.  But  in  giving  equability  to 
the  system  of  government  it  gives  steadiness  and 
strength.  It  teaches  the  people  patience,  accus- 
toming them  to  expect  relief  only  by  constitutional 

2o  means.  It  confirms  their  faith  in  their  institutions, 
as  friends  value  one  another  more  when  their  friend- 
ship has  stood  the  test  of  a  journey  full  of  hardships. 
VI.  American  government,  relying  very  little  on 
ofificials,  has  the   merit   of   arming  them  with  little 

25  power  of  arbitrary  interference.  The  reader  who 
has  followed  the  description  of  Federal  authorities. 
State  authorities,  county  and  city  or  township  author- 
ities,^ may  think  there  is  a  great   deal   of  adminis- 

6  See  Parts  I.  and  II.,  which  comprise  the  entire  first  volume  of 
The  American  Commonwealth. 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        141 

tration ;  but  the  description  has  been  minute  just 
because  the  powers  of  each  authority  are  so  care- 
fully and  closely  restricted.  It  is  natural  to  fancy 
that  a  government  of  the  people  and  by  the  people 
will  be  led  to  undertake  many  and  various  functions  5 
for  the  people,  and  in  the  confidence  of  its  strength 
will  constitute  itself  a  general  philanthropic  agency 
for  their  social  and  economic  benefit.  There  has 
doubtless  been  of  late  years  a  current  running  in 
this  direction.'^  But  the  paternalism  of  America  10 
differs  from  that  of  Europe  in  acting  not  so  much 
through  officials  as  through  the  law.  That  is  to 
say,  when  it  prescribes  to  the  citizen  a  particular 
course  of  action  it  relies  upon  the  ordinary  legal 
sanctions,  instead  of  investing  the  administrative  15 
officers  with  inquisitorial  duties  or  powers  that  might 
prove  oppressive,  and  when  it  devolves  active  func- 
tions upon  officials,  they  are  functions  serving  to 
aid  the  individual  and  the  community  rather  than 
to  interfere  with  or  supersede  the  action  of  pri-  20 
vate  enterprise.  Having  dwelt  on  the  .evils  which 
may  flow  from  the  undue  application  of  the  doc- 
trine of  direct  popular  sovereignty,  I  must  remind 
the  European  reader  that  it  is  only  fair  to  place 
to  the  credit  of  that  doctrine  and  of  the  arrange-  25 
ments  it  has  dictated,  the  intelligence  which  the 
average  native  American  shows  in  his  political 
judgments,  the  strong  sense  he  entertains  of  the 
duty  of  giving    a  vote,  the  spirit  of  alertness  and 

7  See  Chapter  X£M.  —  Bryce. 


142  James  Bryce 

enterprise,  which   has  made  him  self-helpful  above 
all  other  men. 

VII.  There  are  no  struggles  between  privileged 
and  unprivileged  orders,  not  even  that  perpetual 
5  strife  of  rich  and  poor  which  is  the  oldest  disease 
of  civilised  states.  One  must  not  pronounce  broadly 
that  there  are  no  classes,  for  in  parts  of  the  country 
social  distinctions  have  begun  to  grow  up.  But  for 
political  purposes  classes  scarcely  exist.     No  one  of 

10  the  questions  which  now  agitate  the  nation  is  a 
question  between  rich  and  poor.  Instead  of  sus- 
picion, jealousy,  and  arrogance  embittering  the  rela- 
tions of  classes,  good  feeling  and  kindliness  reign. 
Everything  that  government,  as  the  Americans  have 

15  hitherto  understood  the  term,  can  give  them,  the 
poorer  class  have  already,  political  power,  equal  civil 
rights,  a  career  open  to  all  citizens  alike,  not  to 
speak  of  that  gratuitous  higher  as  well  as  elementary 
education  which  on  their  own  economic  principles 

ao  the  United  States  might  have  abstained  from  giving, 
but  which  political  reasons  have  led  them  to  provide 
with  so  unstinting  a  hand.  Hence  the  poorer  have 
had  nothing  to  fight  for,  no  grounds  for  disliking 
the  well-to-do,  no  complaints  to  make  against  them. 

25  The  agitation  of  the  last  few  years  has  been  directed, 
not  against  the  richer  sort  generally,  but  against 
incorporated  companies  and  a  few  wealthy  capitalists, 
who  are  deemed  to  have  abused  the  powers  which 
the  privilege  of  incorporation  conferred  upon  them, 

30  or  employed  their  wealth  to  procure  legislation  unfair 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        143 

to  the  public.  Where  violent  language  has  been 
used  like  that  with  which  France  and  Germany  are 
familiar,  it  has  been  used,  not  by  native  Americans, 
but  by  new-comers,  who  bring  their  Old  World  pas- 
sions with  them.  Property  is  safe,  because  those  5 
who  hold  it  are  far  more  numerous  than  those  who 
do  not :  the  usual  motives  for  revolution  vanish ; 
universal  suffrage,  even  when  vested  in  ignorant 
new-comers,  can  do  comparatively  little  harm,  be- 
cause the  masses  have  obtained  everything  which  10 
they  could  hope  to  attain  except  by  a  general  pillage. 
And  the  native  Americans,  though  the  same  cannot 
be  said  of  some  of  the  recent  immigrants,  are  shrewd 
enough  to  see  that  the  poor  would  suffer  from  such 
pillage  no  less  than  the  rich.  15 

VIII.  [Revising  this  chapter  in  1894,  I  leave 
these  words,  which  were  written  in  1888,  to  stand 
as  they  were.  They  then  expressed,  as  I  believe, 
the  view  which  the  most  judicious  Americans  them- 
selves took  of  their  country.  Looking  at  the  labour  20 
troubles  of  the  last  three  years,  and  especially  at  the 
great  railroad  strike  riots  of  July,  1894,^  that  view 
may  seem  too  roseate.  It  is,  however,  to  be  remem- 
bered that  those  riots  were  mainly  the  work  of 
recent  immigrants,  whom  American  institutions  have  25 
not  had  time  to  educate,  though  the  folly  of  abstract 
theory  has  confided  votes  to  them  ;  and  it  must  also 

8  The  well-known  strike  begun  by  the  employees  of  the  Pullman 
Company  at  Chicago,  in  which  much  property  was  destroyed  and  sev- 
eral lives  lost. 


144  James  Bryce 

be  noted  that  the  opinion  of  the  native  Americans, 
with  little  distinction  of  class,  approved  the  bold- 
ness with  which  the  Federal  executive  went  to  the 
extreme  limit  of  its  constitutional  powers  in  repress- 
5  ing  them.  In  any  case  it  seems  better  to  await  the 
teachings  of  the  next  few  years  rather  than  let 
matured  conclusions  be  suddenly  modified  by  passing 
events.] 

IX.    A  European  censor  may  make  two  reflections 

lo  on  the  statement  of  this  part  of  the  case.  He  will 
observe  that,  after  all,  it  is  no  more  than  saying 
that  when  you  have  got  to  the  bottom  you  can  fall 
no  farther.  And  he  will  ask  whether,  if  property 
is  safe  and  contentment  reigns,  these  advantages  are 

15  not  due  to  the  economical  conditions  of  a  new  and 
resourceful  country,  with  an  abundance  of  unoccu- 
pied land  and  mineral  wealth,  rather  than  to  the 
democratic  structure  of  the  government.  The  answer 
to  the  first  objection  is,  that  the  descent  towards 

20  equality  and  democracy  has  involved  no  injury  to 
the  richer  or  better  educated  classes  :  to  the  second, 
that  although  much  must  doubtless  be  ascribed  to 
the  bounty  of  nature,  her  favours  have  been  so  used 
by   the   people   as   to   bring  about   a   prosperity,    a 

25  general  diffusion  of  property,  an  abundance  of  free- 
dom, of  equality,  and  of  good  feeling  which  furnish 
the  best  security  against  the  recurrence  in  America 
of  chronic  Old  World  evils,  even  when  her  economic 
state  shall  have  become  less  auspicious  than  it  now 

30  is.      Wealthy   and   powerful   such   a   country   must 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        145 

have  been  under  any  form  of  government,  but  the 
speed  with  which  she  has  advanced,  and  the  employ- 
ment of  the  sources  of  wealth  to  diffuse  comfort 
among  millions  of  families,  may  be  placed  to  the 
credit  of  stimulative  freedom.  Wholesome  habits  5 
have  been  established  among  the  people  whose  value 
will  be  found  when  the  times  of  pressure  approach, 
and  though  the  troubles  that  have  arisen  between 
labour  and  capital  may  not  soon  pass  away,  the 
sense  of  human  equality,  the  absence  of  offensive  10 
privileges  distinguishing  class  from  class,  will  make 
those  troubles  less  severe  than  in  Europe,  where 
they  are  complicated  by  the  recollection  of  old 
wrongs,  by  arrogance  on  the  one  side  and  envy  on 
the  other.  15 

X.  Some  American  panegyrists  of  democracy 
have  weakened  their  own  case  by  claiming  for  a 
form  of  government  all  the  triumphs  which  modern 
science  has  wrought  in  a  land  of  unequalled  natural 
resources.  An  active  European  race  would  probably  20 
have  made  America  rich  and  prosperous  under  any 
government.  But  the  volume  and  the  character  of 
the  prosperity  attained  may  be  in  large  measure 
ascribed  to  the  institutions  of  the  country.  As  Mr. 
Charles  W.  Eliot  observes  in  a  singularly  thoughtful  25 
address  :  — 

"Sensible  and  righteous  government  ought  ultimately  to 
make  a  nation  rich ;  and  ahhough  this  proposition  cannot  be 
directly  reversed,  yet  diffused  well-being,  comfort,  and  material 
prosperity  establish  a  fair  presumption  in  favour  of  the  govern-  30 

L 


146  James  Bryce 

ment  and  the  prevailing  social  conditions  under  which  these 
blessings  have  been  secured.  .  .  . 

"  The  successful  establishment  and  support  of  religious  insti- 
tutions—  churches,  seminaries,  and  religious  charities  —  upon  a 
5  purely  voluntary  system,  is  an  unprecedented  achievement  of 
the  American  democracy.  In  only  three  generations  American 
democratic  society  has  effected  the  complete  separation  of 
Church  and  State,  a  reform  which  no  other  people  has  ever 
attempted.      Yet  religious  institutions  are  not  stinted  in  the 

10  United  States;  on  the  contrary,  they  abound  and  thrive,  and 
all  alike  are  protected  and  encouraged,  but  not  supported,  by 
the  State.  .  .  .  The  maintenance  of  churches,  seminaries,  and 
charities  by  voluntary  contributions  and  by  the  administrative 
labours  of  volunteers,  implies  an  enormous  and  incessant  expen- 

15  diture  of  mental  and  moral  force.  It  is  a  force  which  must  ever 
be  renewed  from  generation  to  generation ;  for  it  is  a  personal 
force,  constantly  expiring,  and  as  constantly  to  be  replaced. 
Into  the  maintenance  of  the  voluntary  system  in  religion  has 
gone  a  good  part  of  the  moral  energy  which  three  generations 

20  have  been  able  to  spare  from  the  work  of  getting  a  living ;  but 
it  is  worth  the  sacrifice,  and  will  be  accounted  in  history  ©ne  of 
the  most  remarkable  feats  of  American  public  spirit  and  faith  in 
freedom. 

"A  similar  exhibition  of  diffused  mental  and  moral  energy 

25  has  accompanied  the  establishment  and  the  development  of  a 
system  of  higher  instruction  in  the  United  States,  with  no 
inheritance  of  monastic  endowments,  and  no  gifts  from  royal  or 
ecclesiastical  personages  disposing  of  great  resources  derived 
from  the  State,  and  with  but  scanty  help  from  the  public  purse. 

30  Whoever  is  familiar  with  the  colleges  and  universities  of  the 
United  States  knows  that  the  creation  of  these  democratic  insti- 
tutions has  cost  the  life-work  of  thousands  of  devoted  men.  At 
the  sacrifice  of  other  aspirations,  and  under  heavy  discourage- 
ments  and   disappointments,   but   with   faith   and   hope,  these 

35  teachers  and  trustees  have  built  up  institutions,  which,  however 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        147 

imperfect,  have  cherished  scientific  enthusiasm,  fostered  piety, 
literature,  and  art,  maintained  the  standards  of  honour  and 
public  duty,  and  steadily  kept  in  view  the  ethical  ideals  which 
democracy  cherishes.  It  has  been  a  popular  work,  to  which 
large  numbers  of  people  in  successive  generations  have  con-  5 
tributed  of  their  substance  or  of  their  labour.  The  endowment 
of  institutions  of  education,  including  libraries  and  museums,  by 
private  persons  in  the  United  States  is  a  phenomenon  without 
precedent  or  parallel,  and  is  a  legitimate  effect  of  democratic 
institutions.  Under  a  tyranny  —  were  it  that  of  a  Marcus  10 
Aurelius  —  or  an  oligarchy  —  were  it  as  enlightened  as  that 
which  now  rules  Germany  —  such  a  phenomenon  would  be 
simply  impossible.  Like  the  voluntary  system  in  religion,  the 
voluntary  system  in  the  higher  education  buttresses  democracy ; 
each  demands  from  the  community  a  large  outlay  of  intellectual  15 
activity  and  moral  vigour." 

XI.  The  government  of  the  Republic,  limited  and 
languid  in  ordinary  times,  is  capable  of  developing 
immense  vigour.  It  can  pull  itself  together  at 
moments  of  danger,  can  put  forth  unexpected  efforts,  20 
can  venture  on  stretches  of  authority  transcending 
not  only  ordinary  practice  but  even  ordinary  lav^. 
This  is  the  result  of  the  unity  of  the  nation.  A 
divided  people  is  a  v^eak  people,  even  if  it  obeys  a 
monarch  ;  a  united  people  is  doubly  strong  v^^hen  it  is  25 
democratic,  for  then  the  force  of  each  individual  v^ill 
swells  the  collective  force  of  the  government,  encour- 
ages it,  relieves  it  from  internal  embarrassments. 
Now  the  American  people  is  united  at  moments  of 
national  concern  from  two  causes.  One  is  that  30 
absence  of  class  divisions  and  jealousies  which  has 
been  already  described.      The  people  are  homoge- 


148  James  Bryce 

neous  :  a  feeling  which  stirs  them  stirs  alike  rich 
and  poor,  farmers  and  traders,  Eastern  men  and 
Western  men  —  one  may  now  add,  Southern  men 
also.     Their  patriotism  has  ceased  to  be  defiant,  and 

5  is  conceived  as  the  duty  of  promoting  the  greatness 
and  happiness  of  their  country,  a  greatness  which, 
as  it  does  not  look  to  war  or  aggression,  does  not 
redound  specially,  as  it  might  in  Europe,  to  the  glory 
or  benefit  of  the  ruling  caste  or  the  military  profes- 

10  sion,  but  to  that  of  all  the  citizens.  The  other 
source  of  unity  is  the  tendency  in  democracies  for 
the  sentiment  of  the  majority  to  tell  upon  the  senti- 
ment of  a  minority.  That  faith  in  the  popular  voice 
whereof   I    have   already  spoken  strengthens  every 

15  feeling  which  has  once  become  strong,  and  makes 
it  rush  like  a  wave  over  the  country,  sweeping 
everything  before  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  peo- 
ple become  wild  with  excitement,  for  beneath  their 
noisy  demonstrations  they  retain  their  composure  and 

20  shrewd  view  of  facts.  I  mean  only  that  the  pervad- 
ing sympathy  stirs  them  to  unwonted  efforts.  The 
steam  is  superheated,  but  the  effect  is  seen  only  in 
the  greater  expansive  force  which  it  exerts.  Hence 
a  spirited  executive  can  in  critical  times  go  forward 

25  with  a  courage  and  confidence  possible  only  to  those 
who  know  that  they  have  a  whole  nation  behind 
them.  The  people  fall  into  rank  at  once.  With 
that  surprising  gift  for  organization  which  they 
possess,  they  concentrate  themselves  on  the  imme- 

30  diate  object ;   they  dispense  with  the  ordinary  con- 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy        149 

stitutional  restrictions  ;  they  make  personal  sacrifices 
which  remind  one  of  the  self-devotion  of  Roman 
citizens  in  the  earlier  days  of  Rome. 

XII.  Speaking  thus,  I  am  thinking  chiefly  of  the 
spirit  evolved  by  the  Civil  War  in  both  the  North  5 
and  the  South.  But  the  sort  of  strength  which  a 
democratic  government  derives  from  its  direct  de- 
pendence on  the  people  is  seen  in  many  smaller 
instances.  In  1863,  when  on  the  making  of  a  draft 
of  men  for  the  war,  the  Irish  mob  rose  in  New  York  10 
City,  excited  by  the  advance  of  General  Robert  E. 
Lee  into  Pennsylvania,  the  State  government  called 
out  the  troops,  and  by  them  restored  order  with  a 
stern  vigour  which  would  have  done  credit  to  Radetz- 
sky  or  Cavaignac.  More  than  a  thousand  rioters  15 
were  shot  down,  and  public  opinion  entirely  ap- 
proved the  slaughter.  Years  after  the  war,  when 
the  Orangemen  of  New  York  purposed  to  have  a 
1 2th  of  July  procession  through  the  streets,  the  Irish 
Catholics  threatened  to  prevent  it.  The  feeling  of  20 
the  native  Americans  was  aroused  at  once  ;  young 
men  of  wealth  came  back  from  their  mountain  and 
seaside  resorts  to  fill  the  militia  regiments  which 
were  called  out  to  guard  the  procession,  and  the  dis- 
play of  force  was  so  overwhelming  that  no  disturb-  25 
ance  followed.  These  Americans  had  no  sympathy 
with  the  childish  and  mischievous  partisanship  which 
leads  the  Orangemen  to  perpetuate  Old  World  feuds 
on  New  World  soil.  But  processions  were  legal,  and 
they  were  resolved  that  the  law  should  be  respected,  30 


150  James  Bryce 

and  the  spirit  of  disorder  repressed.  They  would 
have  been  equally  ready  to  protect  a  Roman  Catho- 
lic procession. 

XIII.  Given  an  adequate  occasion,  executive  au- 
5  thority  in  America  can  better  venture  to  take  strong 

measures,  and  feels  more  sure  of  support  from  the 
body  of  the  people  than  is  the  case  in  England. 
When  there  is  a  failure  to  enforce  the  law,  the 
fault  lies  at  the  door,  not  of  the  people,  but  of 
10  timid  or  time-serving  officials  who  fear  to  offend 
some  interested  section  of  the  voters. 

XIV.  Democracy  has  not  only  taught  the  Ameri- 
cans how  to  use  liberty  without  abusing  it,  and 
how   to   secure   equality :   it   has   also   taught   them 

IS  fraternity.  That  word  has  gone  out  of  fashion  in 
the  Old  World,  and  no  wonder,  considering  what 
was  done  in  its  name  in  1793,^  considering  also 
that  it  still  figures  in  the  programme  of  assassins. 
Nevertheless  there  is  in   the  United  States  a  sort 

20  of  kindliness,  a  sense  of  human  fellowship,  a  recog- 
nition of  the  duty  of  mutual  help  owed  by  man  to 
man,  stronger  than  anywhere  in  the  Old  World, 
and  certainly  stronger  than  in  the  upper  or  middle 
classes    of    England,    France,    or    Germany.      The 

25  natural  impulse  of  every  citizen  in  America  is  to 
respect  every  other  citizen,  and  to  feel  that  citizen- 

^  The  watchwords  of  the  French  Revolution  and  the  Reign  of  Terror 
were  Liberie^  i,galite,  Fraternite,  and  in  their  names  were  committed 
all  the  crimes  of  the  time.  It  is  still  a  favourite  phrase  among 
anarchists. 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy       151 

ship  constitutes  a  certain  ground  of  respect.  The 
idea  of  each  man's  equal  rights  is  so  fully  realized 
that  the  rich  or  powerful  man  feels  it  no  indignity 
to  take  his  turn  among  the  crowd,  and  does  not 
expect  any  deference  from  the  poorest.  An  individ-  s 
ual  employer  of  labour  (for  one  cannot  say  the  same 
of  corporations)  has,  I  think,  a  keener  sense  of  his 
duty  to  those  whom  he  employs  than  employers 
have  in  continental  Europe.  He  has  certainly  a 
greater  sense  of  responsibility  for  the  use  of  his  10 
wealth.  The  number  of  gifts  for  benevolent  and 
other  public  purposes,  the  number  of  educational, 
artistic,  literary,  and  scientific  foundations,  is  larger 
than  even  in  Britain,  the  wealthiest  and  most  liberal 
of  European  countries.  Wealth  is  generally  felt  to  15 
be  a  trust,  and  exclusiveness  condemned  not  merely 
as  indicative  of  selfishness,  but  as  a  sort  of  offence 
against  the  public.  No  one,  for  instance,  thinks  of 
shutting  up  his  pleasure-grounds ;  he  seldom  even 
builds  a  wall  round  them,  but  puts  up  low  railings  20 
or  a  palisade,  so  that  the  sight  of  his  trees  and 
shrubs  is  enjoyed  by  passers-by.  That  any  one 
should  be  permitted  either  by  opinion  or  by  law 
to  seal  up  many  square  miles  of  beautiful  mountain 
country  against  tourists  or  artists  is  to  the  ordinary  25 
American  almost  incredible.  Such  things  are  to 
him  the  marks  of  a  land  still  groaning  under  feudal 
tyranny. 

XV.   It  may  seem  strange  to  those  who  know  how 
difficult  European  states  have  generally  found  it  to  30 


152  James  Bryce 

conduct  negotiations  with  the  government  of  the 
United  States,  and  who  are  accustomed  to  read  in 
European  newspapers  the  defiant  utterances  which 
American  poHticians  address  from  Congress  to  the 

5  effete  monarchies  of  the  Old  World,  to  be  told  that 
this  spirit  of  fraternity  has  its  influence  on  interna- 
tional relations  also.  Nevertheless  if  we  look  not 
at  the  irresponsible  orators,  who  play  to  the  lower 
feelings  of  a  section  of  the  people,  but  at  the  general 

lo  sentiment  of  the  whole  people,  we  shall  recognize 
that  democracy  makes  both  for  peace  and  for  justice 
as  between  nations.  Despite  the  admiration  for  mil- 
itary exploits  which  the  Americans  have  sometimes 
shown,  no  country   is  at  bottom    more  pervaded  by 

15  a  hatred  of  war,  and  a  sense  that  national  honour 
stands  rooted  in  national  fair  dealing.  The  nation 
is  often  misrepresented  by  its  statesmen,  but  al- 
though it  allows  them  to  say  irritating  things  and 
advance  unreasonable  claims,   it  has   not   for   more 

20  than  forty  years  permitted  them  to  abuse  its  enor- 
mous strength,  as  most  European  nations  possessed 
of  similar  strength  have  in  time  past  abused  theirs. 

XVI.    The  characteristics  of  the  nation  which  I 
have  passed  in  review  are  not  due  solely  to  demo- 

25  cratic  government,  but  they  have  been  strengthened 
by  it,  and  they  contribute  to  its  solidity  and  to  the 
smoothness  of  its  working.  As  one  sometimes  sees 
an  individual  man  who  fails  in  life  because  the  dif- 
ferent  parts   of  his   nature    seem    unfitted    to   each 

30  other,  so  that  his  action,  swayed  by  contending  in- 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy       153 

fluences,  results  in  nothing  definite  or  effective,  so 
one   sees   nations    whose    political    institutions    are 
either  in  advance  of  or  lag  behind  their  social  con- 
ditions, so  that  the  unity  of  the  body  politic  suffers, 
and   the   harmony   of    its   movements   is   disturbed,    s 
America  is  not  such  a  nation.     There  have,  no  doubt, 
been  two  diverse  influences  at  work  on  the  minds 
of  men.     One   is   the   conservative    English    spirit, 
brought  from  home,  expressed,  and  (if  one  may  say 
so)   entrenched  in  those  fastnesses  of  the    Federal  10 
Constitution,  and  (to  a  less  degree)  of  the  State  con- 
stitutions, which  reveal  their   English   origin.     The 
other   is   the   devotion   to  democratic   equality   and 
popular  sovereignty,  due  partly  to  Puritanism,  partly 
to  abstract  theory,   partly  to  the   circumstances  of  15 
the    Revolutionary  struggle.     But  since   neither   of 
these  two  streams  of  tendency  has  been  able  to  over- 
come the  other,  they  have  at  last  become  so  blent 
as  to  form  a  definite  type  of  political  habits,  and  a 
self-consistent  body  of  political  ideas.     Thus  it  may  20 
now  be  said  that  the  country  is  made  all  of  a  piece. 
Its  institutions  have  become  adapted  to  its  economic  . 
and  social  conditions  and  are  the  due  expression  of 
its  character.      The  new  wine  has  been  poured  into 
new  bottles  :  or  to  adopt  a  metaphor  more  appro-  25 
priate  to  the  country,  the  vehicle  has  been  built  with 
a  lightness,  strength,  and  elasticity  which  fit  it  for 
the  roads  it  has  to  traverse. 


VI 

3o{)n  Eusfetn 

Born  1819 
THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 

INTRODUCTION  1 

[The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  consists  of  a  series  of  four  lectures 
on  Worky  Traffic,  War,  and  The  Future  of  England,  delivered 
at  various  times  and  before  various  audiences  of  Englishmen  — 
operatives,  merchants,  and  soldiers.  The  first  three  lectures  were 
published  in  1866,  the  last,  delivered  in  1869,  was  added  to  the 
volume  in  1873.  The  Introduction,  formerly  called  the  Preface, 
appeared  in  its  present  form  in  the  same  year.  It  is  character- 
istic of  Ruskin's  point  of  view  and  is  an  excellent  example  of  his 
earnest,  fervid  eloquence  in  dealing  with  conduct  and  life. 

The  text  is  that  of  the  Brantwood  edition  of  the  works  of 
John  Ruskin,  published  by  Messrs.  Maynard,  Merrill,  and  Com- 
pany, of  New  York,  with  whose  kind  permission  the  passage  is 
reprinted.] 

I.  Twenty  years  ago,  there  was  no  lovelier  piece 
of  lowland  scenery  in  South  England,  nor  any  more 
pathetic,  in  the  world,  by  its  expression  of  sweet 
human  character  and  life,  than  that  immediately 
5  bordering  on  the  sources  of  the  Wandel,  and  in- 
cluding the  low  moors  of  Addington,  and   the  vil- 

1  Called  the  Preface  in  former  editions;  it  is  one  of  my  bad  habits 
to  put  half  my  books  into  preface.  Of  this  one,  the  only  prefa- 
tory thing  I  have  to  say  is  that  most  of  the  contents  are  stated  more 

154 


The  Crowit  of  Wild  Olive  155 

lages  of  Beddington  and  Carshalton,  with  all  their 
pools  and  streams.  No  cleaner  or  diviner  waters 
ever  sang  with  constant  lips  of  the  hand  which 
**  giveth  rain  from  heaven  "  ;  no  pastures  ever  light- 
ened in  spring-time  with  more  passionate  blossom-  5 
ing ;  no  sweeter  homes  ever  hallowed  the  heart  _  of 
the  passer-by  with  their  pride  of  peaceful  gladness, 
sj  — fain-hidden— yet  full-confessed.  The  place  re- 
mains (1870)  nearly  unchanged  in  its  larger  feat- 
ures ;  but  with  deliberate  mind  I  say,  that  I  have  10 
never  seen  anything  so  ghastly  in  its  inner  tragic 
meaning,  —  not  in  Pisan  Maremma,  —  not  by  Cam- 
pagna  tomb,  —  not  by  the  sand-isles  of  the  Torcellan 
shore,  —  as  the  slow  stealing  of  aspects  of  reckless, 
indolent,  animal  neglect,  over  the  delicate  sweetness  15 
of  that  English  scene :  nor  is  any  blasphemy  or  im- 
piety, any  frantic  saying,  or  godless  thought,  more 
appalling  to  me,  using  the  best  power  of  judgment 
I  have  to  discern  its  sense  and  scope,  than  the 
insolent  defiling  of  those  springs  by  the  human  20 
herds  that  drink  of  them.  Just  where  the  welling 
of  stainless  water,  trembling  and  pure,  like  a  body 
of  light,  enters  the  pool  at  Carshalton,  cutting  itself 
a  radiant  channel  down  to  the  gravel,  through  warp 
of  feathery  weeds,  alL,  waving,  which  it  traverses  25 
with  its  deep  threads  of  clearness,  like  the  chalced- 

fuUy  in  my  other  volumes;  but  here,  are  put  in  what,  at  least,  I  meant 
to  be  a  more  popular  form,  all  but  this  introduction,  which  was  written 
very  carefully  to  be  read,  not  spoken,  and  the  last  lecture  on  the  Future 
of  England,  with  which,  and  the  following  notes  on  it,  I  have  taken 
extreme  pains.  —  Ruskin. 


156  John  Ruskin 

ony  in  moss-agate,  starred  here  and  there  with  the 
white  grenouillette ;  just  in  the  very  rush  and  mur- 
mur of  the  first  spreading  currents,  the  human 
wretches  of  the  place  cast  their   street   and  house 

s  foulness ;  heaps  of  dust  and  slime,  and  broken 
shreds  of  old  metal,  and  rags  of  putrid  clothes ; 
which,  having  neither  energy  to  cart  away,  nor  de- 
cency enough  to  dig  into  the  ground,  they  thus 
shed  into  the  stream,  to  diffuse  what  venom  of  it 

10  will  float  and  melt,  far  away,  in  all  places  where 
God  meant  those  waters  to  bring  joy  and  health. 
And,  in  a  little  pool  behind  some  houses  farther  in 
the  village,  where  another  spring  rises,  the  shat- 
tered  stones  of   the  well,  and  of  the  little  fretted 

IS  channel  which  was  long  ago  built  and  traced  for 
it  by  gentler  hands,  lie  scattered,  each  from  each, 
under  a  ragged  bank  of  mortar,  and  scoria,  and 
bricklayer's  refuse,  on  one  side,  which  the  clean 
water  nevertheless  chastises  to  purity ;   but  it  can- 

20  not  conquer  the  dead  earth  beyond :  and  there,  cir- 
cled and  coiled  under  festering  scum,  the  stagnant 
edge  of  the  pool  effaces  itself  into  a  slope  of  black 
slime,  the  accumulation  of  indolent  years.  Half-a- 
dozen  men,  with  one  day's  work,  could  cleanse  those 

25  pools,  and  trim  the  flowers  about  their  banks,  and 
make  every  breath  of  summer  air  above  them  rich 
with  cool  balm  ;  and  every  glittering  wave  medic- 
inal, as  if  it  ran,  troubled  only  of  angels,  from  the 
^orch  of   Bethesda.     But  that   day's  work  is  never 

30  given,  nor,  I  suppose,  will  be ;  nor  will  any  joy  be 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  157 

possible  to  heart  of  man,  for  evermore,  about  those 
wells  of  English  waters. 

II.  When  I  last  left  them,  I  walked  up  slowly 
through  the  back  streets  of  Croydon,  from  the  old 
church  to  the  hospital ;  and,  just  on  the  left,  before  s 
coming  up  to  the  crossing  of  the  High  Street,  there 
was  a  new  public-house  built.  And  the  front  of  it 
was  built  in  so  wise  manner,  that  a  recess  of  two 
feet  was  left  below  its  front  windows,  between  them 
and  the  street-pavement ;  a  recess  too  narrow  for  10 
any  possible  use,  (for  even  if  it  had  been  occupied 
by  a  seat,  as  in  old  time  it  might  have  been,  every- 
body walking  along  the  street  would  have  fallen 
over  the  legs  of  the  reposing  wayfarer).  But,  by  way 
of  making  this  two  feet  depth  of  freehold  land  more  15 
expressive  of  the  dignity  of  an  establishment  for 
the  sale  of  spirituous  liquors,  it  was  fenced  from  the 
pavement  by  an  imposing  iron  railing,  having  four 
or  five  spear-heads  to  the  yard  of  it,  and  six  feet 
high  ;  containing  as  much  iron  and  iron-work,  indeed,  20 
as  could  well  be  put  into  the  space ;  and  by  this 
stately  arrangement,  the  little  piece  of  dead  ground 
within,  between  wall  and  street,  became  a  protective 
receptacle  of  refuse ;  cigar  ends,  and  oyster  shells, 
and  the  like,  such  as  an  open-handed  English  street-  25 
populace  habitually  scatters ;  and  was  thus  left,  un- 
sweepable  by  any  ordinary  methods.  Now  the  iron 
bars  which,  uselessly  (or  in  great  degree  worse  than 
uselessly)  enclosed  this  bit  of  ground,  and  made  it 
pestilent,  represented  a  quantity  of  work  which  would  30 


158  John  Ruskin 

have  cleansed  the  Carshalton  pools  three  times  over : 
of  work,  partly  cramped  and  perilous,  in  the  mine ; 
partly  grievous  and  horrible,  at  the  furnace  :  partly 
foolish  and  sedentary,  of  ill-taught  students  making 

5  bad  designs  :  work  from  the  beginning  to  the  last 
fruits  of  it,  and  in  all  the  branches  of  it,  venomous, 
deathful,^  and  miserable. 

III.  Now,  how  did  it  come  to  pass  that  this  work 
was  done  instead  of  the  other ;  that  the  strength  and 

10  life  of  the  English  operative  were  spent  in  defiling 
ground,  instead  of  redeeming  it,  and  in  producing 
an  entirely  (in  that  place)  valueless,  piece  of  metal, 
which  can  neither  be  eaten  nor  breathed,  instead  of 
medicinal  fresh  air  and  pure  water  t 

15  IV.  There  is  but  one  reason  for  it,  and  at  present 
a  conclusive  one, — that  the  capitalist  can  charge 
percentage  on  the  work  in  the  one  case,  and  cannot 
in  the  other.  If,  having  certain  funds  for  supporting 
labour  at  my  disposal,  I  pay  men  merely  to  keep  my 

2  "  A  fearful  occurrence  took  place  a  few  days  since,  near  Wolver- 
hampton. Thomas  Snape,  aged  nineteen,  was  on  duty  as  the  *  keeper ' 
of  a  blast  furnace  at  Deepfield,  assisted  by  John  Gardner,  aged  eigh- 
teen, and  Joseph  Swift,  aged  thirty-seven.  The  furnace  contained  four 
tons  of  molten  iron,  and  an  equal  amount  of  cinders,  and  ought  to 
have  been  run  out  at  7.30  P.M.  But  Snape  and  his  mates,  engaged  in 
talking  and  drinking,  neglected  their  duty,  and,  in  the  meantime,  the 
iron  rose  in  the  furnace  until  it  reached  a  pipe  wherein  water  was  con- 
tained. Just  as  the  men  had  stripped,  and  were  proceeding  to  tap  the 
furnace,  the  water  in  the  pipe,  converted  into  steam,  burst  down  its 
front  and  let  loose  on  them  the  molten  metal,  which  instantaneously 
consumed  Gardner :  Snape,  terribly  burnt,  and  mad  with  pain,  leaped 
into  the  canal  and  then  ran  home  and  fell  dead  on  the  threshold; 
Swift  survived  to  reach  the  hospital,  where  he  died  too." — Ruskin. 


The  Croivn  of  Wild  Olive  159 

ground  in  order,  my  money  is,  in  that  function, 
spent  once  for  all ;  but  if  I  pay  them  to  dig  iron  out 
of  my  ground,  and  work  it,  and  sell  it,  I  can  charge 
rent  for  the  ground,  and  percentage  both  on  the 
manufacture  and  the  sale,  and  make  my  capital  5 
profitable  in  these  three  by-ways.  The  greater  part 
of  the  profitable  investment  of  capital,  in  the  present 
day,  is  in  operations  of  this  kind,  in  which  the  public 
is  persuaded  to  buy  something  of  no  use  to  it,  on 
production  or  sale  of  which  the  capitalist  may  charge  10 
percentage ;  the  said  public  remaining  all  the  while 
under  the  persuasion  that  the  percentages  thus 
obtained  are  real  national  gains,  whereas,  they  are 
merely  filchings  out  of  light  pockets,  to  swell  heavy 
ones.  IS 

V.  Thus,  the  Croydon  publican  buys  the  iron  rail- 
ing, to  make  himself  more  conspicuous  to  drunkards. 
The  public-housekeeper  on  the  other  side  of  the  way 
presently  buys  another  railing,  to  out-rail  him  with. 
Both  are,  as  to  their  relative  attractiveness,  just  20 
where  they  were  before ;  but  they  have  both  lost  the 
price  of  the  railings ;  which  they  must  either  them- 
selves finally  lose,  or  make  their  aforesaid  customers, 
the  amateurs  of  railings,  pay,  by  raising  the  price  of 
their  beer,  or  adulterating  it.  Either  the  publicans,  25 
or  their  customers,  are  thus  poorer  by  precisely  what 
the  capitalist  has  gained ;  and  the  value  of  the  in- 
dustry itself,  meantime,  has  been  lost  to  the  nation  ; 
the  iron  bars,  in  that  form  and  place,  being  wholly 
useless.  30 


i6o  John  Rttskin 

VI.  It  is  this  mode  of  taxation  of  the  poor  by 
the  rich  which  is  referred  to  in  the  text  (§  34),  in 
comparing  the  modern  acquisitive  power  of  capital 
with  that  of  the  lance  and  sword ;  the.  only  differ- 
5  ence  being  that  the  levy  of  black  mail  in  old  times 
was  by  force,  and  is  now  by  cozening.  The  old 
rider  and  reiver  frankly  quartered  himself  on  the 
publican  for  the  night;  —  the  modern  one  merely 
makes  his  lance  into  an  iron  spike,  and  persuades 

10  his  host  to  buy  it.  One  comes  as  an  open  robber, 
the  other  as  a  cheating  pedlar ;  but  the  result,  to 
the  injured  person's  pocket,  is  absolutely  the  same. 
Of  course  many  useful  industries  mingle  with,  and 
disguise    the    useless    ones ;   and    in    the    habits    of 

15  energy  aroused  by  the  struggle,  there  is  a  certain 
direct  good.  It  is  better  to  spend  four  thousand 
pounds  in  making  a  gun,  and  then  to  blow  it  to 
pieces,  than  to  pass  life  in  idleness.  Only  do  not 
let   the   proceeding  be  called    "political   economy." 

20  VII.  There  is  also  a  confused  notion  in  the  minds 
of  many  persons,  that  the  gathering  of  the  property 
of  the  poor  into  the  hands  of  the  rich  does  no  ulti- 
mate harm ;  since,  in  whosesoever  hands  it  may  be, 
it  must  be  spent  at  last ;  and  thus,  they  think,  return 

25  to  the  poor  again.  This  fallacy  has  been  again  and 
again  exposed ;  but  granting  the  plea  true,  the  same 
apology  may,  of  course,  be  made  for  black  mail,  or 
any  other  form  of  robbery.  It  might  be  (though 
practically  it  never  is)  as  advantageous  for  the  nation 

30  that  the   robber  should   have   the   spending   of  the 


The  Crozvn  of  Wild  Olive  i6i 

money  he  extorts,  as  that  the  person  robbed  should 
have  spent  it.  But  this  is  no  excuse  for  the  theft. 
If  I  were  to  put  a  turnpike  on  the  road  where  it 
passes  my  own  gate,  and  endeavour  to  exact  a  shil- 
ling from  every  passenger,  the  public  would  soon  do  s 
away  with  my  gate,  without  listening  to  any  plea  on 
my  part  that  *'it  was  as  advantageous  to  them,  in 
the  end,  that  I  should  spend  their  shillings,  as  that 
they  themselves  should."  But  if,  instead  of  out- 
facing them  with  a  turnpike,  I  can  only  persuade  lo 
them  to  come  in  and  buy  stones,  or  old  iron,  or  any 
such  useless  thing,  out  of  my  ground,  I  may  rob 
them  to  the  same  extent,  and  be,  moreover,  thanked 
as  a  public  benefactor,  and  promoter  of  commercial 
prosperity.  And  this  main  question  for  the  poor  of  15 
England  —  for  the  poor  of  all  countries  —  is  wholly 
omitted  in  every  common  treatise  on  the  subject 
of  wealth.  Even  by  the  labourers  themselves,  the 
operation  of  capital  is  regarded  only  in  its  effect  on 
their  immediate  interests ;  never  in  the  far  more  20 
terrific  power  of  its  appointment  of  the  kind  and 
the  object  of  labour.  It  matters  little,  ultimately, 
how  much  a  labourer  is  paid  for  making  anything; 
but  it  matters  fearfully  what  the  thing  is,  which  he 
is  compelled  to  make.  If  his  labour  is  so  ordered  25 
as  to  produce  food,  and  fresh  air,  and  fresh  water,  no 
matter  that  his  wages  are  low;  —  the  food  and  fresh 
air  and  water  will  be  at  last  there ;  and  he  will  at 
last  get  them.  But  if  he  is  paid  to  destroy  food  and 
fresh  air,  or  to  produce  iron  bars  instead  of  them,  —  30 


1 62  John  Ruskin 

the  food  and  air  will  finally  not  be  there,  and  he  will 
not  get  them,  to  his  great  and  final  inconvenience. 

VIII.  I  have  been  long  accustomed,  as  all  men 
engaged  in  work  of  investigation  must  be,  to  hear 
5  my  statements  laughed  at  for  years,  before  they  are 
examined  or  believed ;  and  I  am  generally  content 
to  wait  the  public's  time.  But  it  has  not  been  with- 
out displeased  surprise  that  I  have  found  myself  to- 
tally unable,  as  yet,  by  any  repetition,  or  illustration, 

lo  to  force  this  plain  thought  into  my  readers'  heads, 
—  that  the  wealth  of  nations,  as  of  men,  consists  in 
substance,  not  in  ciphers ;  and  that  the  real  good  of 
all  work,  and  of  all  commerce,  depends  on  the  final 
intrinsic  worth  of  the  thing  you  make  or  get  by  it.^ 

IS  This  is  a  "  practical  "  enough  statement,  one  would 
think :  but  the  English  public  has  been  so  possessed 
by  its  modern  school  of  economists  with  the  notion 
that  Business  is  always  good,  whether  it  be  busy  in 
mischief  or  in  benefit ;  and  that  buying  and  selling 

20  are  always  salutary,  whatever  the  intrinsic  worth  of 
what  you  buy  or  sell,  that  it  seems  impossible  to 
gain  so  much  as  a  patient  hearing  for  any  inquiry 
respecting  the  substantial  result  of  our  eager  modern 
labour. 

25  IX.  I  have  never  felt  more  checked  by  the  sense 
of  this  impossibility  than  in  arranging  the  heads  of 
the  following  lectures,  which,  though  delivered  at 
considerable  intervals  of  time,  and  in  different  places, 
were  not  prepared  without  reference  to  each  other. 

*  Compare  preface  to  Munera  Pulveris.  —  Ruskin. 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  163 

Their   connection  would,  however,  have  been  made 
'i — 

far  more  distinct  if  I  had  not  been  prevented,  by 
what  I  feel  to  be  another  great  difficulty  in  address- 
ing English  audiences,  from  enforcing,  with  any 
decision,  the  common,  and  to  me  the  most  impor-  s 
tant,  part  of  their  subjects.  I  chiefly  desired  to  ques- 
tion my  hearers — operatives,  merchants,  and  soldiers 

—  as  to  the  ultimate  meaning  of  the  business  they 
had  in  hand  ;  and  to  know  from  them  what  they 
expected  or  intended  their  manufacture  to  come  to,  10 
their  selling  to  come  to,  and  their  killing  to  come 
to.  That  appeared  the  first  point  needing  deter- 
mination before  I  could  speak  to  them  with  any 
real  utility  or  effect.     **  You   craftsmen  —  salesmen 

—  swordsmen,  —  do  but    tell   me   clearly  what   you  15 
want ;    then,  if  I   can  say  anything  to  help  you,  I 
will ;    and   if    not,  I    will    account  to  you  as  I  best 
may  for  my  inability." 

X.  But  in  order  to  put  this  question  into  any 
terms,  one  has  first  of  all  to  face  a  difficulty  —  to  20 
me  for  the  present  insuperable,  —  the  difficulty  of 
knowing  whether  to  address  one's  audience  as  be- 
lieving, or  not  believing,  in  any  other  world  than 
this.  For  if  you  address  any  average  modern  Eng- 
lish company  as  believing  in  an  Eternal  life ;  and  25 
then  endeavour  to  draw  any  conclusions  from  this 
assumed  belief,  as  to  their  present  business,  they 
will  forthwith  tell  you  that  **  what  you  say  is  very 
beautiful,  but  it  is  not  practical."  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, you  frankly  address   them    as    ^^/^believers   in  30 


164  John  Ruskin 

Eternal  life,  and  try  to  draw  any  consequences  from 
that  unbelief,  —  they  immediately  bold  you  for  an 
accursed  person,  and  shake  off  the  dust  from  their 
feet  at  you. 

s  XL  And  the  more  I  thought  over  what  I  had  got 
to  say,  the  less  I  found  I  could  say  it,  without  some 
reference  to  this  intangible  or  intractable  question. 
It  made  all  the  difference,  in  asserting  any  principle 
of   war,   whether  one  assumed  that  a  discharge   of 

10  artillery  would  merely  knead  down  a  certain  quantity 
of  once  living  clay  into  a  level  line,  as  in  a  brick- 
field ;  or  whether,  out  of  every  separately  Christian- 
named  portion  of  the  ruinous  heap,  there  went  out, 
\/  into  the  smoke  and  dead-fallen  air  of  battle,  some 
^  IS  a^onished  condition  of  soul,  unwillingly  released. 
It  made  all  the  difference,  in  speaking  of  the  pos- 
sible range  of  commerce,  whether  one  assumed  that 
all  bargains  related  only  to  visible  property  —  or 
whether    property,    for    the    present    invisible,    but 

20  nevertheless  real,  was  elsewhere  purchasable  on 
other  terms.  It  made  all  the  difference,  in  address- 
ing a  body  of  men  subject  to  considerable  hardship, 
and  having  to  find  some  way  out  of  it  —  whether  one 
could  confidently  say  to  them,  "My  friends, — you 

25  have  only  to  die,  and  all  will  be  right ; "  or  whether 
one  had  any  secret  misgiving  that  such  advice  was 
more  blessed  to  him  that  gave  than  to  him  that 
took  it. 

XII.    And  therefore  the  deliberate  reader  will  find, 

30  throughout    these   lectures,  a   hesitation   in   driving 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  165 

points  home,  and  a  pausing  short  of  conclusions 
which  he  will  feel  I  would  fain  have  come  to;  — 
hesitation  which  arises  wholly  from  this  uncertainty 
of  my  hearers'  temper.  For  I  do  not  speak,  nor 
have  I  ever  spoken,  since  the  time  of  first  forward  5 
youth,  in  any  proselytizing  temper,  as  desiring  to 
persuade  any  one  to  believe  anything ;  but  whom- 
soever I  venture  to  address,  I  take  for  the  time,  his 
creed  as  I  find  it ;  and  endeavour  to  push  it  into 
such  vital  fruit  as  it  seems  capable  of.  Thus,  it  is  10 
a  creed  with  a  great  part  of  the  existing  English 
people,  that  they  are  in  possession  of  a  book  which 
tells  them,  straight  from  the  lips  of  God,  all  they 
ought  to  do,  and  need  to  know.  I  have  read  that 
book,  with  as  much  care  as  most  of  them,  for  some  15 
forty  years ;  and  am  thankful  that,  on  those  who 
trust  it,  I  can  press  its  pleadings.  My  endeavour 
has  been  uniformly  to  make  them  trust  it  more 
deeply  than  they  do ;  trust  it,  not  in  their  own 
favourite  verses  only,  but  in  the  sum  of  all ;  trust  20 
it,  not  as  a  fetish  or  talisman,  which  they  are  to  be 
saved  by  daily  repetitions  of ;  but  as  a  Captain's 
order,  to  be  heard  and  obeyed  at  their  peril.  I  was 
always  encouraged  by  supposing  my  hearers  to  hold 
such  belief.  To  these,  if  to  any,  I  once  had  hope  25 
of  addressing,  with  acceptance,  words  which  insisted 
on  the  guilt  of  pride,  and  the  futility  of  avarice ; 
from  these,  if  from  any,  I  once  expected  ratification 
of  a  political  economy,  which  asserted  that  the  life 
was  more  than  the  meat,  and  the  body  than  raiment ;  30 


1 66  John  Ruskin 

and  these,  it  once  seemed  to  me,  I  might  ask,  with- 
out being  accused  of  fanaticism,  not  merely  in  doc- 
trine of  the  lips,  but  in  the  bestowal  of  their  heart's 
treasure,  to  separate  themselves  from  the  crowd  of 
5  whom  it  is  written,  ''After  all  these  things  do  the 
Gentiles  seek." 

XIII.  It  cannot,  however,  be  assumed,  with  any 
semblance  of  reason,  that  a  general  audience  is  now 
wholly,  or  even  in  majority,  composed  of  these  relig- 

lo  ious  persons.  A  large  portion  must  always  consist 
of  men  who  admit  no  such  creed ;  or  who,  at  least, 
are  inaccessible  to  appeals  founded  on  it.  And  as, 
with  the  so-called  Christian,  I  desired  to  plead  for 
honest  declaration  and  fulfilment  of  his  belief  in  life, 

IS  — with  the  so-called  Infidel,  I  desired  to  plead  for 
an  honest  declaration  and  fulfilment  of  his  belief  in 
death.  The  dilemma  is  inevitable.  Men  must  either 
hereafter  live,  or  hereafter  die ;  fate  may  be  bravely 
met,  and  conduct  wisely  ordered,  on  either  expecta- 

20  tion ;  but  never  in  hesitation  between  ungrasped 
hope  and  unconfronted  fear.  We  usually  believe  in 
immortality,  so  far  as  to  avoid  preparation  for  death  ; 
and  in  mortality,  so  far  as  to  avoid  preparation  for 
anything   after   death.     Whereas,    a  wise   man   will 

25  at  least  hold  himself  ready  for  one  or  other  of  two 
events,  of  which  one  or  other  is  inevitable  ;  and  will 
have  all  things  ended  in  order,  for  his  sleep,  or  left 
in  order,  for  his  awakening. 

XIV.  Nor  have  we  any  right  to  call  it  an  ignoble 
30  judgment,  if  he  determine  to  end  them  in  order,  as 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  167 

for  sleep.     A  brave  belief  in  life  is  indeed  an  envi- 
able state  of  mind,  but  as  far  as  I  can  discern,  an 
unusual  one.     I   know  few  Christians  so  convinced 
of   the    splendour   of   the   rooms    in    their    Father's 
house,  as  to  be  happier  when  their  friends  are  called    5 
to  those  mansions,  than  they  would  have   been   if 
the  Queen  had  sent  for  them  to  live  at  Court :  nor 
has  the  Church's  most  ardent  "desire  to  depart,  and 
be  with  Christ,"  ever  cured  it  of  the  singular  habit  of 
putting  on  mourning  for  every  person  summoned  to  10 
such  departure.     On  the  contrary,  a  brave  belief  in 
death  has  been  assuredly  held  by  many  not  ignoble 
persons ;    and  it  is  a  sign  of  the  last  depravity  in  ^ 
the  Church  itself,  when  it  assumes  that  such  a  be- 
lief is  inconsistent  with  either  purity  of  character,  15 
or  energy  of  hand.     The  shortness  of  life  is  not,  to 
any  rational  person,  a  conclusive  reason  for  wasting 
the  space  of  it  which  may  be  granted  him  ;  nor  does 
the  anticipation  of  death,  to-morrow,  suggest,  to  any 
one  but  a  drunkard,  the  expediency  of  drunkenness  20 
to-day.     To   teach   that    there    is    no    device   in   the 
grave,  may  indeed  make  the  deviceless  person  more 
contented  in  his  dulness  :   but  it  will   make  the  de- 
viser only  more  earnest  in  devising  :    nor  is  human 
conduct  likely,  in  every  case,  to  be  purer,  under  the  25 
conviction   that   all   its    evil    may   in    a   moment  be 
pardoned,  and  all  its  wrong-doing  in  a  moment  re- 
deemed ;    and   that   the    sigh    of   repentance,   which 
purges  the  guilt  of  the  past,  will  waft  the  soul  into 
a  felicity  which  forgets   its  pain,  —  than  it  may  be  30 


1 68  John  Ruskin 

under  the  sterner,  and  to  many  not  unwise  minds, 
more  probable,  apprehension,  that  *'  what  a  man 
soweth  that  shall  he  also  reap "  —  or  others  reap, 
—  when  he,  the  living  seed  of  pestilence,  walketh 

5  no  more  in  darkness,  but  lies  down  therein. 

XV.  But  to  men  for  whom  feebleness  of  sight, 
or  bitterness  of  soul,  or  the  offence  given  by  the 
conduct  of  those  who  claim  higher  hope,  may  have 
rendered  this  painful  creed  the   only  possible   one, 

lo  there  is  an  appeal  to  be  made,  more  secure  than 
any  which  can  be  addressed  to  happier  persons. 
Might  not  a  preacher,  in  comfortless,  but  faithful, 
zeal  —  from  the  poor  height  of  a  grave-hillock  for  his 
Hill  of  Mars,  and  with  the  Cave  of  the  Eumenides 

15  at  his  side  —  say  to  them  thus  :  Hear  me,  you  dying 
men,  who  will  soon  be  deaf  for  ever.  For  these 
others,  at  your  right  hand  and  your  left,  who  look 
forward  to  a  state  of  infinite  existence,  in  which  all 
their  errors  will  be  overruled,  and  all  their  faults 

20  forgiven ;  —  for  these,  who,  stained  and  blackened  in 
the  battle  smoke  of  mortality,  have  but  to  dip  them- 
selves for  an  instant  in  the  font  of  death,  and  to 
rise  renewed  of  plumage,  as  a  dove  that  is  covered 
with  silver,  and  her  feathers  like  gold  :  —  for  these, 

25  indeed,  it  may  be  permissible  to  waste  their  num- 
bered moments,  through  faith  in  a  future  of  innu- 
merable hours;  to  these,  in  their  weakness  it  may 
be  conceded  that  they  should  tamper  with  sin  which 
can  only  bring  forth  fruit  of  righteousness,  and  profit 

30  by  the  iniquity  which,  one  day,  will  be  remembered 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  1 69 

no  more.  In  them,  it  may  be  no  sign  of  hardness 
of  heart  to  neglect  the  poor,  over  whom  they  know 
their  Master  is  watching ;  and  to  leave  those  to 
perish  temporarily,  who  cannot  perish  eternally. 
But,  for  you  there  is  no  such  hope,  and  therefore  no  s 
such  excuse.  This  fate,  which  you  ordain  for  the 
wretched,  you  believe  to  be  all  their  inheritance ; 
you  may  crush  them,  before  the  moth,  and  they  will 
never  rise  to  rebuke  you;  —  their  breath,  which  fails 
for  lack  of  food,  once  expiring,  will  never  be  recalled  10 
to  whisper  against  you  a  word  of  accusing;  —  they 
and  you,  as  you  think,  shall  lie  down  together  in 
the  dust,  and  the  worms  cover  you ;  and  for  them 
there  shall  be  no  consolation,  and  on  you  no  ven- 
geance,—  only  the  question  murmured  above  your  15 
grave:  "Who  shall  repay  him  what  he  hath  done.-*" 
Is  it  therefore  easier  for  you,  in  your  heart,  to  inflict 
the  sorrow  for  which  there  is  no  remedy  }  Will  you 
take,  wantonly,  this  little  all  of  his  life  from  your 
poor  brother,  and  make  his  brief  hours  long  to  him  20 
with  pain }  Will  you  be  more  prompt  to  the  injus- 
tice which  can  never  be  redressed  ;  and  more  nig- 
gardly of  the  mercy  which  you  ca7i  bestow  but  once, 
and  which,  refusing,  you  refuse  for  ever  t 

XVI.  I  think  better  of  you,  even  of  the  most  25 
selfish,  than  that  you  would  act  thus,  well  under- 
standing your  act.  And  for  yourselves,  it  seems 
to  me,  the  question  becomes  not  less  grave  when 
brought  into  these  curt  limits.  If  your  life  were 
but   a   fever  fit,  —  the  madness  of   a   night,   whose  30 


I/O  Joh7i  Ruskin 

follies  were  all  to  be  forgotten  in  the  dawn,  it 
might  matter  little  how  you  fretted  away  the  sickly 
hours, — what  toys  you  snatched  at  or  let  fall, 
—  what    visions    you    followed,    wistfully,    with    the 

S  deceived  eyes  of  sleepless  phrenzy.  Is  the  earth 
only  an  hospital  ?  are  health  and  heaven  to  come  ? 
Then  play,  if  you  care  to  play,  on  the  floor  of  the 
hospital  dens.  Knit  its  straw  into  what  crowns 
please  you ;  gather  the  dust  of  it  for  treasure,  and 

lo  die  rich  in  that,  though  clutching  at  the  black 
motes  in  the  air  with  your  dying  hands ;  —  and 
yet,  it  may  be  well  with  you.  But  if  this  life  be 
no  dream,  and  the  world  no  hospital,  but  your 
palace-inheritance ;  —  if  all  the  peace  and  power  and 

IS  joy  you  can  ever  win,  must  be  won  now,  and  all 
fruit  of  victory  gathered  here,  or  never; — will  you 
still,  throughout  the  puny  totality  of  your  life, 
weary  yourselves  in  the  fire  for  vanity }  If  there 
is  no  rest  which   remaineth  for  you,  is  there  none 

20  you  might  presently  take }  was  this  grass  of  the 
earth  made  green  for  your  shroud  only,  not  for 
your  bed  .-*  and  can  you  never  lie  down  upon  it,  but 
only  under  it  t  The  heathen,  in  their  saddest  hours, 
thought  not   so.     They  knew  that  life  brought  its 

25  contest,  but  they  expected  from  it  also  the  crown 
of  all  contest :  No  proud  one !  no  jewelled  circlet 
flaming  through  Heaven  above  the  height  of  the 
unmerited  throne ;  only  some  few  leaves  of  wild 
olive,  cool  to  the  tired  brow,  through  a  few  years 

30  of    peace.      It    should    have    been    of    gold,    they 


The  Crozvn  of  Wild  Olive  171 

thought;  but  Jupiter  was   poor;   this  was   the    best 
the  god  could   give  them.     Seeking   a   better  than 
this,   they   had  known   it   a  mockery.     Not   in   war, 
not  in  wealth,  not  in  tyranny,  was  there  any  happi- 
ness to  be  found  for  them  —  only  in   kindly  peace,    5 
fruitful   and  free.     The  wreath   was   to   be  of  wild 
olive,   mark  you  :  —  the  tree  that  grows  carelessly, 
tufting  the   rocks  with   no   vivid  bloom,  no  verdure 
of    branch ;    only   with    soft    snow  of    blossom,    and 
scarcely   fulfilled    fruit,    mixed    with    grey   leaf    and  10 
thorn-set  stem  ;  no  fastening  of  diadem  for  you  but 
with  such  sharp  embroidery !     But  this,  such  as  it 
is,  you  may  win,  while  yet  you  live ;  type  of  grey 
honour,  and  sweet  rest.*     Free-heartedness,  and  gra- 
ciousness,  and  undisturbed  trust,  and  requited  love,  15 
and  the  sight  of  the  peace  of  others,  and  the  min- 
istry to  their  pain  ;  these,  —  and  the  blue  sky  above 
you,  and  the  sweet  waters  and  flowers  of  the  earth 
beneath ;  and  mysteries  and  presences,  innumerable, 
of  living   things,  —  may  yet   be   here   your   riches;  20 
untormenting    and    divine:    serviceable   fo£  the  life^ 
that   now  is ;   nor,   it    may  be,   without    promise   of 
that  which  is  to  come. 


VII 

Born  i8oi.    Died  1890 
WHAT  IS  A  UNIVERSITY? 

[The  present  selection  is  Chapter  II.  of  the  Rise  and  Progress 
of  Universities.  The  work  appeared  in  1854  in  the  Catholic 
University  Gazette  of  DubHn,  and  was  issued  in  book  form  in 
1856.  The  present  title  was  given  it  in  1872.  Newman  wrote 
the  articles  with  the  founding  of  a  Roman  Catholic  University  at 
Dublin  in  prospect,  and  in  them,  as  in  The  Idea  of  a  University^ 
he  has  set  forth  his  ideas  as  to  what  the  ideal  of  a  university 
should  be.  The  present  chapter,  which  follows  a  short  intro- 
ductory chapter  and  precedes  the  famous  chapter  on  The  Site  of 
a  University,  is  really  the  introduction  to  the  subject. 

The  chapter  is  reprinted  from  Volume  III.  of  Newman's  His- 
torical Sketches,  through  the  kindness  of  Messrs.  Longmans, 
Green,  and  Company,  of  London  and  New  York.] 

I.  If  I  were  asked  to  describe  as  briefly  and  popu- 
larly as  I  could,  what  a  University  was,  I  should 
draw  my  answer  from  its  ancient  designation  of  a 
Studiiim  Generate,  or  "  School  of  Universal  Learn- 

5  ing."  This  description  implies  the  assemblage  of 
strangers  from  all  parts  in  one  spot ;  — from  all 
parts ;  else,  how  will  you  find  professors  and  students 
for  every  department  of  knowledge  ?  and  in  one  spot ; 
else,  how  can  there  be  any  school  at  all }     Accord- 

10  ingly,  in  its  simple  and  rudimental  form,  it  is  a  school 

172 


What  is  a   University  f  173 

of  knowledge  of  every  kind,  consisting  of  teachers 
and  learners  from  every  quarter.  Many  things  are 
requisite  to  complete  and  satisfy  the  idea  embodied 
in  this  description ;  but  such  as  this  a  University 
seems  to  be  in  its  essence,  a  place  for  the  communi-  s 
cation  and  circulation  of  thought,  by  means  of  per- 
sonal intercourse,  through  a  wide  extent  of  country. 

II.  There  is  nothing  far-fetched  or  unreasonable 
in  the  idea  thus  presented  to  us  ;  and  if  this  be  a 
University,  then  a  University  does  but  contemplate  10 
a  necessity  of  our  nature,  and  is  but  one  specimen 
in  a  particular  medium,  out  of  many  which  might  be 
adduced  in  others,  of  a  provision  for  that  necessity. 
Mutual  education,  in  a  large  sense  of  the  word,  is 
one  of  the  great  and  incessant  occupations  of  human  15 
society,  carried  on  partly  with  set  purpose,  and  partly 
not.  One  generation  forms  another ;  and  the  exist- 
ing generation  is  ever  acting  and  reacting  upon  itself 
in  the  persons  of  its  individual  members.  Now,  in 
this  process,  books,  I  need  scarcely  say,  that  is,  the  20 
litera  scripta,  are  one  special  instrument.  It  is  true  ; 
and  emphatically  so  in  this  age.  Considering  the 
prodigious  powers  of  the  press,  and  how  they  are 
developed  at  this  time  in  the  never-intermitting  issue 
of  periodicals,  tracts,  pamphlets,  works  in  series,  and  25 
light  literature,  we  must  allow  there  never  was  a 
time  which  promised  fairer  for  dispensing  with  every 
other  means  of  information  and  instruction.  What 
can  we  want  more,  you  will  say,  for  the  intellectual 
education  of  the  whole  man,  and  for  every  man,  than  30 


174  John  Henry  Newman 

so  exuberant  and  diversified  and  persistent  a  pro- 
mulgation of  all  kinds  of  knowledge  ?  Why,  you 
will  ask,  need  we  go  up  to  knowledge,  when  knowl- 
edge comes  down  to  us  ?  The  Sibyl  wrote  her 
5  prophecies  upon  the  leaves  of  the  forest,  and  wasted 
them ;  but  here  such  careless  profusion  might  be 
prudently  indulged,  for  it  can  be  afforded  without 
loss,  in  consequence  of  the  almost  fabulous  fecundity 
of  the  instrument  which  these  latter  ages  have  in- 

lo  vented.  We  have  sermons  in  stones,  and  books  in 
the  running  brooks ;  works  larger  and  more  compre- 
hensive than  those  which  have  gained  for  ancients 
an  immortality,  issue  forth  every  morning,  and  are 
projected  onwards  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  at  the 

IS  rate  of  hundreds  of  miles  a  day.  Our  seats  are 
strewed,  our  pavements  are  powdered,  with  swarms 
of  little  tracts ;  and  the  very  bricks  of  our  city 
walls  preach  wisdom,  by  informing  us  by  their 
placards  where  we  can  at  once  cheaply  purchase  it. 

20  III.  I  allow  all  this,  and  much  more ;  such  cer- 
tainly is  our  popular  education,  and  its  effects  are 
remarkable.  Nevertheless,  after  all,  even  in  this 
age,  whenever  men  are  really  serious  about  getting 
what,  in  the  language  of  trade,  is   called   "a  good 

25  article,"  when  they  aim  at  something  precise,  some- 
thing refined,  something  really  luminous,  something 
really  large,  something  choice,  they  go  to  another 
market ;  they  avail  themselves,  in  some  shape  or 
other,  of  the  rival'  method,  the  ancient  method,  of 

30  oral  instruction,  of  present  communication  between 


What  is  a  University  ?  1 75 

man  and  man,  of  teachers  instead  of  learning,  of  the 
personal  influence  of  a  master,  and  the  humble  initia- 
tion of  a  disciple,  and,  in  consequence,  of  great  centres 
of  pilgrimage  and  throng,  which  such  a  method  of 
education  necessarily  involves.  This,  I  think,  will  5 
be  found  to  hold  good  in  all  those  departments  or 
aspects  of  society  which  possess  an  interest  suffi- 
cient to  bind  men  together,  or  to  constitute  what 
is  called  "a  world."  It  holds  in  the  political  world, 
and  in  the  high  world,  and  in  the  religious  world  ;  10 
and  it  holds  also  in  the  literary  and  scientific  world. 

IV.  If  the  actions  of  men  may  be  taken  as  any 
test  of  their  convictions,  then  we  have  reason  for 
saying  this,  viz.:  —  that  the  province  and  the  ines- 
timable benefit  of  the  litera  scripta  is  that  of  being  15 
a  record  of  truth,  and  an  authority  of  appeal,  and 
an  instrument  of  teaching  in  the  hands  of  a  teacher ; 
but  that,  if  we  wish  to  become  exact  and  fully  fur- 
nished in  any  branch  of  knowledge  which  is  diversi- 
fied and  complicated,  we  must  consult  the  living  man  20 
and  listen  to  his  living  voice.  I  am  not  bound  to 
investigate  the  cause  of  this,  and  anything  I  may 
say  will,  I  am  conscious,  be  short  of  its  full  analy- 
sis; —  perhaps  we  may  suggest,  that  no  books  can 
get  through  the  number  of  minute  questions  which  25 
it  is  possible  to  ask  on  any  extended  subject,  or 
can  hit  upon  the  very  difficulties  which  are  severally 
felt  by  each  reader  in  succession.  Or  again,  that 
no  book  can  convey  the  special  spirit  and  delicate 
peculiarities   of   its   subject  with  that   rapidity  and  30 


1/6  John  Henry  Newman 

certainty  which  attend  on  the  sympathy  of  mind 
with  mind,  through  the  eyes,  the  look,  the  accent, 
and  the  manner,  in  casual  expressions  thrown  off  at 
the  moment,  and  the  unstudied  turns  of  familiar 
5  conversation.  But  I  am  already  dwelling  too  long 
on  what  is  but  an  incidental  portion  of  my  main 
subject.  Whatever  be  the  cause,  the  fact  is  unde- 
niable. The  general  principles  of  any  study  you 
may  learn  by  books  at  home ;   but  the  detail,   the 

lo  colour,  the  tone,  the  air,  the  life  which  makes  it 
live  in  us,  you  must  catch  all  these  from  those  in 
whom  it  lives  already.  You  must  imitate  the  student 
in  French  or  German,  who  is  not  content  with  his 
grammar,  but  goes  to  Paris  or  Dresden  :  you  must 

IS  take  example  from  the  young  artist,  who  aspires  to 
visit  the  great  Masters  in  Florence  and  in  Rome. 
Till  we  have  discovered  some  intellectual  daguerreo- 
type, which  takes  off  the  course  of  thought,  and 
the  form,  lineaments,  and  features  of  truth,  as  com- 

20  pletely  and  minutely,  as  the  optical  instrument  repro- 
duces the  sensible  object,  we  must  come  to  the 
teachers  of  wisdom  to  learn  wisdom,  we  must  repair 
to  the  fountain,  and  drink  there.  Portions  of  it  may 
go  from  thence  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  by  means 

25  of  books ;  but  the  fulness  is  in  one  place  alone.  It 
is  in  such  assemblages  and  congregations  of  intellect 
that  books  themselves,  the  masterpieces  of  human 
genius,  are  written,  or  at  least  originated. 

V.   The  principle  on  which  I  have  been  insisting 

30  is  so  obvious,  and   instances  in  point  are  so  ready. 


What  is  a   University  f  177 

that  I  should  think  it  tiresome  to  proceed  with  the 
subject,  except  that  one  or  two  illustrations  may 
serve  to  explain  my  own  language  about  it,  which 
may  not  have  done  justice  to  the  doctrine  which  it 
has  been  intended  to  enforce.  S 

VI.  For  instance,  the  polished  manners  and  high- 
bred bearing  which  are  so  difficult  of  attainment, 
and  so  strictly  personal  when  attained,  —  which  are 
so  much  admired  in  society,  from  society  are  ac- 
quired. All  that  goes  to  constitute  a  gentleman, —  10 
the  carriage,  gait,  address,  gestures,  voice;  the  ease, 
the  self-possession,  the  courtesy,  the  power  of  con- 
versing, the  talent  of  not  offending ;  the  lofty  prin- 
ciple, the  delicacy  of  thought,  the  happiness  of 
expression,  the  taste  and  propriety,  the  generosity  15 
and  forbearance,  the  candour  and  consideration,  the 
openness  of  hand;  —  these  qualities,  some  of  them 
come  by  nature,  some  of  them  may  be  found  in  any 
rank,  some  of  them  are  a  direct  precept  of  Christi- 
anity ;  but  the  full  assemblage  of  them,  bound  up  20 
in  the  unity  of  an  individual  character,  do  we  expect 
they  can  be  learned  from  books }  are  they  not  nec- 
essarily acquired,  where  they  are  to  be  found,  in 
high  society }  The  very  nature  of  the  case  leads 
us  to  say  so ;  you  cannot  fence  without  an  antago-  25 
nist,  nor  challenge  all  comers  in  disputation  before 
you  have  supported  a  thesis ;  and  in  like  manner, 
it  stands  to  reason,  you  cannot  learn  to  converse 
till  you  have  the  world  to  converse  with  ;  you  can- 
not unlearn   your  natural   bashful n ess,  or  awkward-  30 

N 


178  John  Henry  Newman 

ness,  or  stiffness,  or  other  besetting  deformity,  till 
you  serve  your  time  in  some  school  of  manners. 
Well,  and  is  it  not  so  in  matter  of  fact  ?  The 
metropolis,  the  court,  the  great  houses  of  the  land, 

5  are  the  centres  to  which  at  stated  times  the  country 
comes  up,  as  to  shrines  of  refinement  and  good 
taste ;  and  then  in  due  time  the  country  goes  back 
again  home,  enriched  with  a  portion  of  the  social 
accomplishments,  which   those   very  visits  serve  to 

^o  call  out  and  heighten  in  the  gracious  dispensers 
of  them.  We  are  unable  to  conceive  how  the 
"gentlemanlike"  can  otherwise  be  maintained;  and 
maintained  in  this  way  it  is. 

VII.    And  now  a  second   instance :  and  here  too 

IS  I  am  going  to  speak  without  personal  experience 
of  the  subject  I  am  introducing.  I  admit  I  have 
not  been  in  Parliament,  any  more  than  I  have 
figured  in  the  beau  monde ;  yet  I  cannot  but  think 
that    statesmanship,    as    well    as    high   breeding,    is 

20  learned,  not  by  books,  but  in  certain  centres  of 
education.  If  it  be  not  presumption  to  say  so, 
Parliament  puts  a  clever  man  au  courant  with  poli- 
tics and  affairs  of  state  in  a  way  surprising  to  him- 
self.     A   member   of   the    Legislature,    if   tolerably 

25  observant,  begins  to  see  things  with  new  eyes,  even 
though  his  views  undergo  no  change.  Words  have 
a  meaning  now,  and  ideas  a  reality,  such  as  they 
had  not  before.  He  hears  a  vast  deal  in  public 
speeches  and  private  conversation,  which  is  never  put 

30  into  print.     The  bearings  of  measures  and  events. 


What  is  a  University?  1^9 

the  action  of  parties,  and  the  persons  of  friends 
and  enemies,  are  brought  out  to  the  man  who  is  in 
the  midst  of  them  with  a  distinctness,  which  the 
most  diligent  perusal  of  newspapers  will  fail  to 
impart  to  them.  It  is  access  to  the  fountain-heads  5 
of  political  wisdom  and  experience,  it  is  daily  inter- 
course, of  one  kind  or  another,  with  the  multitude 
who  go  up  to  them,  it  is  familiarity  with  business, 
it  is  access  to  the  contributions  of  fact  and  opinion 
thrown  together  by  many  witnesses  from  many  10 
quarters,  which  does  this  for  him.  However,  I 
need  not  account  for  a  fact,  to  which  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  appeal;  that  the  Houses  of  Parliament  and 
the  atmosphere  around  them  are  a  sort  of  Univer- 
sity of  politics.  IS 

Vni.  As  regards  the  world  of  science,  we  find  a 
remarkable  instance  of  the  principle  which  I  am 
illustrating,  in  the  periodical  meetings  for  its  ad- 
vance, which  have  arisen  in  the  course  of  the  last 
twenty  years,  such  as  the  British  Association.  Such  20 
gatherings  would  to  many  persons  appear  at  first 
sight  simply  preposterous.  Above  all  subjects  of 
study.  Science  is  conveyed,  is  propagated,  by  books, 
or  by  private  teaching;  experiments  and  investiga- 
tions are  conducted  in  silence;  discoveries  are  made  25 
in  solitude.  What  have  philosophers  to  do  with 
festive  celebrities,  and  panegyrical  solemnities  with 
mathematical  and  physical  truth.?  Yet  on  a  closer 
attention  to  the  subject,  it  is  found  that  not  even 
scientific  thought  can  dispense  with  the  suggestions,  30 


i8o  John  Henry  Newman 

the  instruction,  the  stimulus,  the  sympathy,  the 
intercourse  with  mankind  on  a  large  scale,  which 
such  meetings  secure.  A  fine  time  of  year  is 
chosen,  when   days   are   long,  skies  are  bright,  the 

5  earth  smiles,  and  all  nature  rejoices;  a  city  or  town 
is  taken  by  turns,  of  ancient  name  or  modern  opu- 
lence, where  buildings  are  spacious  and  hospitality 
hearty.  The  novelty  of  place  and  circumstance,  the 
excitement  of  strange,  or  the  refreshment  of  well- 

lo  known  faces,  the  majesty  of  rank  or  of  genius,  the 
amiable  charities  of  men  pleased  both  with  them- 
selves and  with  each  other;  the  elevated  spirits,  the 
circulation  of  thought,  the  curiosity ;  the  morning 
sections,    the    outdoor    exercise,    the    well-furnished, 

IS  well-earned  board,  the  not  ungraceful  hilarity,  the 
evening  circle;  the  brilliant  lecture,  the  discussions 
or  collisions  or  guesses  of  great  men  one  with  an- 
other, the  narratives  of  scientific  processes,  of  hopes, 
disappointments,  conflicts,  and  successes,  the  splen- 

20  did  eulogistic  orations;  these  and  the  like  constit- 
uents of  the  annual  celebration,  are  considered  to 
do  something  real  and  substantial  for  the  advance 
of  knowledge  which  can  be  done  in  no  other  way. 
Of  course  they  can  but  be  occasional ;   they  answer 

25  to  the  annual  Act,  or  Commencement,  or  Commem- 
oration of  a  University,  not  to  its  ordinary  condition; 
but  they  are  of  a  University  nature ;  and  I  can  well 
believe  in  their  utility.  They  issue  in  the  promo- 
tion of  a  certain  living  and,  as  it  were,  bodily  com- 

jo  niunication  of  knowledge  from  one  to  another,  of  a 


What  is  a   University?  i8l 

general  interchange  of  ideas,  and  a  comparison  and 
adjustment  of  science  with  science,  of  an  enlarge- 
ment of  mind,  intellectual  and  social,  of  an  ardent 
love  of  the  particular  study,  which  may  be  chosen 
by  each  individual,  and  a  noble  devotion  to  its  in-  s 
terests. 

IX.  Such  meetings,  I  repeat,  are  but  periodical, 
and  only  partially  represent  the  idea  of  a  University. 
The  bustle  and  whirl  which  are  their  usual  con- 
comitants, are  in  ill  keeping  with  the  order  and  lo 
gravity  of  earnest  intellectual  education.  We  desid- 
erate means  of  instruction  which  involve  no  inter- 
ruption of  our  ordinary  habits  ;  nor  need  we  seek 
it  long,  for  the  natural  course  of  things  brings  it 
about,  while  we  debate  over  it.  In  every  great  15 
country,  the  metropolis  itself  becomes  a  sort  of 
necessary  University,  whether  we  will  or  no.  As 
the  chief  city  is  the  seat  of  the  court,  of  high  so- 
ciety, of  politics,  and  of  law,  so  as  a  matter  of  course 
is  it  the  seat  of  letters  also ;  and  at  this  time,  for  a  20 
long  term  of  years,  London  and  Paris  are  in  fact  and 
in  operation  Universities,  though  in  Paris  its  famous 
University  is  no  more,  and  in  London  a  University 
scarcely  exists  except  as  a  board  of  administration. 
The  newspapers,  magazines,  reviews,  journals,  and  25 
periodicals  of  all  kinds,  the  publishing  trade,  the 
libraries,  museums,  and  academies  there  found,  the 
learned  and  scientific  societies,  necessarily  invest  it 
with  the  functions  of  a  University ;  and  that  atmos- 
phere of  intellect,  which  in  a  former  age  hung  over  30 


1 82  John  Henry  Newman 

Oxford  or  Bologna  or  Salamanca,  has,  with  the 
change  of  times,  moved  away  to  the  centre  of  civil 
government.  Thither  come  up  youths  from  all  parts 
of  the  country,  the  students  of   law,  medicine,  and 

5  the  fine  arts,  and  the  employes  and  attaches  of  litera- 
ture. There  they  live,  as  chance  determines;  and 
they  are  satisfied  with  their  temporary  home,  for 
they  find  in  it  all  that  was  promised  to  them  there. 
They  have  not  come  in  vain,  as  far    as    their  own 

lo  object  in  coming  is  concerned.  They  have  not 
learned  any  particular  religion,  but  they  have  learned 
their  own  particular  profession  well.  They  have, 
moreover,  become  acquainted  with  the  habits,  man- 
ners, and  opinions   of   their   place   of   sojourn,   and 

15  done  their  part  in  maintaining  the  tradition  of  them. 
We  cannot  then  be  without  virtual  Universities ;  a 
metropolis  is  such :  the  simple  question  is,  whether 
the  education  sought  and  given  should  be  based  on 
principle,  formed  upon  rule,  directed  to  the  highest 

20  ends,  or  left  to  the  random  succession  of  masters 
and  schools,  one  after  another,  with  a  melancholy 
waste  of  thought  and  an  extreme  hazard  of  truth. 
X.  Religious  teaching  itself  affords  us  an  illus- 
tration of  our  subject  to  a  certain   point.     It   does 

25  not  indeed  seat  itself  merely  in  centres  of  the 
world ;  this  is  impossible  from  the  nature  of  the 
case.  It  is  intended  for  the  many,  not  the  few ;  its 
subject  matter  is  truth  necessary  for  us,  not  truth 
recondite  and  rare ;  but  it  concurs  in  the  principle 

30  of  a  University  so  far  as  this,  that  its  great  instru- 


What  is  a   University?  183 

ment,  or  rather  organ,  has  ever  been  that  which 
nature  prescribes  in  all  education,  the  personal  pres- 
ence of  a  teacher,  or,  in  theological  language,  Oral 
Tradition.  It  is  the  living  voice,  the  breathing  form, 
the  expressive  countenance,  which  preaches,  which  5 
catechises.  Truth,  a  subtle,  invisible,  manifold  spirit, 
is  poured  into  the  mind  of  the  scholar  by  his  eyes 
and  ears,  through  his  affections,  imagination,  and 
reason ;  it  is  poured  into  his  mind  and  is  sealed  up 
there  in  perpetuity,  by  propounding  and  repeating  10 
it,  by  questioning  and  requestioning,  by  correcting 
and  explaining,  by  progressing  and  then  recurring 
to  first  principles,  by  all  those  ways  which  are  im- 
plied in  the  word  "catechising."  In  the  first  ages, 
it  was  a  work  of  long  time  ;  months,  sometimes  15 
years,  were  devoted  to  the  arduous  task  of  disabus- 
ing the  mind  of  the  incipient  Christian  of  its  pagan 
errors,  and  of  moulding  it  upon  the  Christian  faith. 
The  Scriptures  indeed  were  at  hand  for  the  study 
of  those  who  could  avail  themselves  of  them  ;  but  20 
St.  Irenaeus  does  not  hesitate  to  speak  of  whole 
races,  who  had  been  converted  to  Christianity,  with- 
out being  able  to  read  them.  To  be  unable  to  read 
or  write  was  in  those  times  no  evidence  of  want  of 
learning  :  the  hermits  of  the  deserts  were,  in  this  25 
sense  of  the  word,  illiterate ;  yet  the  great  St.  An- 
thony, though  he  knew  not  letters,  was  a  match  in 
disputation  for  the  learned  philosophers  who  came 
to  try  him.  Didymus  again,  the  great  Alexandrian 
theologian,  was  blind.     The  ancient  discipline,  called  30 


184  John  Henry  Newman 

the  Disciplina  Arcani^  involved  the  same  principle. 
The  more  sacred  doctrines  of  Revelation  were  not 
committed  to  books,  but  passed  on  by  successive 
tradition.     The  teaching  on  the  Blessed  Trinity  and 

5  the  Eucharist  appears  to  have  been  so  handed  down 
for  some  hundred  years  ;  and  when  at  length  re- 
duced to  writing,  it  has  filled  many  folios,  yet  has 
not  been  exhausted. 

XI.    But  I  have  said  more  than  enough  in  illustra- 

10  tion;  I  end  as  I  began  ;  —  a  University  is  a  place  of 

'Concourse,  whither  students  come  from  every  quarter 
for  every  kind  of  knowledge.  You  cannot  have  the 
best  of  every  kind  everywhere ;  you  must  go  to  some 
great  city  or  emporium  for  it.     There  you  have  all 

15  the  choicest  productions  of  nature  and  art  all  to- 
gether, which  you  find  each  in  its  own  separate  place 
elsewhere.  All  the  riches  of  the  land,  and  of  the 
earth,  are  carried  up  thither,  there  are  the  best 
markets,  and  there  the   best  workmen.      It   is   the 

20  centre  of  trade,  the  supreme  court  of  fashion,  the 
umpire  of  rival  talents,  and  the  standard  of  things 
rare  and  precious.  It  is  the  place  for  seeing  galleries 
of  first-rate  pictures,  and  for  hearing  wonderful  voices 
and  performers  of  transcendent  skill.     It  is  the  place 

25  for  great  preachers,  great  orators,  great  nobles,  great 
statesmen.  In  the  nature  of  things,  greatness  and 
unity  go  together ;  excellence  implies  a  centre.  And 
such,  for  the  third  or  fourth  time,  is  a  University ; 
I  hope  I  do  not  weary  out  the  reader  by  repeating 

30  it.     It  is  the  place  to  which  a  thousand  schools  make 


What  is  a   University  f  185 

contributions ;    in   which    the    intellect    may    safely 
range  and  speculate,  sure  to  find  its  equal  in  some 
antagonist  activity,  and  its  judge  in  the  tribunal  of 
truth.     It  is  a  place  where  inquiry  is  pushed  forward, 
and  discoveries  verified  and  perfected,  and  rashness    s 
rendered  innocuous,  and  error  exposed,  by  the  colli- 
sion of  mind  with  mind,  and  knowledge  with  knowl-y 
edge.     It  is  the  place  where  the  professor  becomes 
eloquent,  and  is  a  missionary  and  a  preacher,  dis- 
playing his  science  in  its  most  complete  and  most  10 
winning  form,  pouring  it  forth  with  the  zeal  of  enthu- 
siasm,  and   lighting   up   his  own    love  of   it  in  the 
breasts  of  his  hearers.     It  is  the  place  where  the 
catechist  makes  good  his  ground  as  he  goes,  treading 
in  the  truth  day  by  day  into  the  ready  memory,  and  15 
wedging  and  tightening  it  into  the  expanding  reason. 
It  is  a  place  which  wins  the  admiration  of  the  young 
by  its  celebrity,  kindles  the  affections  of  the  middle- 
aged  by  its  beauty,  and  rivets  the  fidelity  of  the  old 
by  its  associations.     It  is  a  seat  of  wisdom,  a  light  20 
of  the  world,  a  minister  of  the  faith,  an  Alma  Mater 
of  the  rising  generation.     It  is  this  and  a  great  deal 
more,  and  demands  a  somewhat  better  head  and  hand 
than  mine  to  describe  it  well. 

XII.  Such  is  a  University  in  its  idea  and  in  its  25 
purpose ;  such  in  good  measure  has  it  before  now 
been  in  fact.  Shall  it  ever  be  again  .'*  We  are  going 
forward  in  the  strength  of  the  Cross,  under  the 
patronage  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  in  the  name  of  St. 
Patrick,  to  attempt  it.  30 


NOTES 


NOTES    ON    THE    STRUCTURE    OF    THE 
FOREGOING   ESSAYS 


I.    THE  DEFEAT  OF  THE  SPANISH  ARMADA 

I.  Object  of  the  Essay.  —  Froude's  account  of  the  defeat  of  the 
Spanish  Armada  is  introduced  as  an  example  of  structure  of  a 
simple  kind,  —  of  structure  in  which  the  material  is  arranged  in  the 
order  of  time  ;  in  other  words,  of  direct  narrative. 

II.  Principles  of  Structure.  —  Before  making  a  minute  study  of 
Froude's  narrative,  we  shall  do  well  to  get  some  notion  of  what 
narration  in  theory  is,  and  of  the  principles  of  structure  on  which 
the  success  of  a  narrative  depends.  A  narrative  may  be  generally 
defined  as  a  series  of  events  following  one  another ;  that  is,  it  deals 
with  actual,  or  imaginary,  occurrences.  To  put  the  case  in  other 
words,  we  may  say  (i)  that  in  narration  we  have  to  do  with  par- 
ticular things,  as,  to  take  an  example  from  the  present  narrative,  with 
the  Ark  Raleigh^  and  (2)  that  we  deal  with  these  things  not  as  they 
look  but  as  they  act ;  we  tell  what  they  do  or  what  is  done  to  them. 
The  essence  of  the  narrative  lies  in  this  doing,  which  we  term  the 
action.  This  action  cannot  well  go  on  by  itself;  hence  we  see  the 
need,  as  was  mentioned  above,  of  things  to  act ;  and  these,  to  bor- 
row a  term  from  the  stage,  we  may  call  the  actors.  To  the  action 
and  the  actors  we  have  to  add  a  third  element,  —  the  place  for  the 
action  to  occur  in ;  hence,  any  good  narrative  will  be  found  to 
contain  names  of  places,  dates,  and  even  descriptive  passages,  which 
go  to  make  up  the  setting.  All  three  elements  together  make  what 
we  usually  call  the  "events." 

It  is  clear  that  these  events  in  themselves,  or  a  number  of  these 
events,  will  not  necessarily  make  interesting  narrative ;  they  may 

189 


1 90  Notes 

have  nothing  to  do  with  one  another,  or  they  may  not  be  worth 
telling.  So  certain  principles  must  be  observed  (i)  in  the  selection 
of  events  and  (2)  in  the  arrangement  of  them.  In  any  good  nar- 
rative, such  as  Macaulay's  History  of  England^  these  principles  will 
be  found  observed.  What  they  are  in  any  given  case  will  depend 
on  the  immediate  purpose  of  the  writer,  —  whether  it  is  to  sketch  the 
history  of  an  epoch,  to  tell  the  happenings  of  a  day  in  a  news- 
column,  to  depict  the  life  of  a  man,  to  amuse  the  reader  by  a  clever 
bit  of  fiction.  Setting  aside  all  but  narrative  dealing  with  history, 
we  may  say  that  the  most  important  principles  in  the  selection  of 
material  are  these : 

1.  The  selection  of  a  definite  objective  point  to  which  all  the 
events  shall  tend.  In  the  present  case,  the  object  which  Froude 
had  in  mind  was  the  relating  of  the  course  of  events  by  which  the 
Spanish  Armada  was  sent  out  from  Spain  and  ultimately  defeated 
by  the  English,  at  sea,  in  the  year  1588,  The  material  is  chosen 
with  the  culminating  point  in  view,  and  consists  of  a  series  of  par- 
ticular events. 

2.  The  selection  of  such  material  only  as  leads  up  to  this  objec- 
tive point,  and,  of  all  the  events,  of  those  only  which  are  of  impor- 
tance. Thus,  in  the  present  narrative,  we  are  told  little  of  what  was 
going  on  in  England,  Spain,  and  Flanders,  and  nothing  of  what 
was  going  on  in  other  countries ;  and  when  any  events  other  than 
those  relating  to  the  defeat  of  the  Armada  at  sea  are  given,  they 
are  introduced  to  make  clearer  or  more  interesting  or  more  complete 
the  happenings  at  sea.  Moreover,  all  the  events  at  sea  cannot  be 
brought  in ;  the  small  actions,  such  as  the  killing  of  individual  sail- 
ors, must  be  omitted,  or  at  most  introduced  only  to  illustrate  the 
more  important  part  of  the  general  action. 

In  regard  to  the  arrangement  or  structure  of  a  good  historical 
narrative  the  following  principles  should  be  noted  : 

I.  Progression  of  the  narrative.  —  Since  the  narrative  is  dealing 
with  events  which  have,  as  in  the  present  instance,  actually  taken 
place,  these  events  have  occurred  in  the  order  of  time ;  hence  the 
events  of  the  narrative  must,  so  far  as  possible,  follow  one  another 
in  this  order-  But,  to  make  the  succession  of  events  clearer  and 
more  coherent,  one  event  should,  so  far  as  may  be,  follow  another 
of  which  it  is  the  result ;  in  other  words,  the  order  of  cause  and 
effect  must  be  followed.     This  order  can  be  observed  in  Froude's 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  191 

narrative,  as  in  paragraphs  L.  and  LI.,  where  the  sharp  policy  of 
the  Queen  drives  the  admirals  to  deliberate  with  regard  to  the  most 
effective  means  of  driving  the  Spanish  from  Calais  Roads,  the  result 
of  which  is  the  sending  of  fire-ships  against  the  Armada.  Here  the 
time-order  and  the  order  of  cause  and  effect  go  side  by  side.  To 
the  novelist's  methods  of  heightening  effect,  climax,  digiogue,  and 
the  like,  the  historian,  as  a  dealer  in  truth,  cannot  o^en  resort.  In 
any  case,  however,  the  effect  may  be  enlivened  by  the  choice  of 
words  and  by  the  management  of  sentences ;  in  other  words,  by 
style. 

2.  Emphasis  of  the  narrative.  —  Significant  events,  as  we  have 
seen  in  discussing  the  selection  of  material,  are  dwelt  upon  at  greater 
length  than  less  important  things.  In  the  arrangement  of  the  mate- 
rial, these  chief  events,  while  following  the  order  of  time,  may  be 
made  to  occupy  the  more  prominent  positions.  So,  too,  new  mate- 
rial may  be  brought  in  whenever  it  is  needed  to  give  increased  inter- 
est to  the  action.  Such  is  the  case  in  the  present  narrative,  e.g.^  in 
paragraphs  XLIV.-XLVII.  There  the  digression  to  the  condition 
of  the  Spanish  on  shore  serves  to  make  the  state  of  the  Spanish  on 
sea  clearer,  as  well  as  to  heighten,  by  the  suspense,  the  effect  of  the 
coming  battle.  Under  the  same  principle  falls  the  placing  of  the 
paragraphs  dealing  with  the  condition  of  the  English  directly  after 
those  dealing  with  the  condition  of  the  Spanish,  —  a  device  which 
makes  each  group  stand  out  more  distinctly.  It  is  necessary  to 
add,  however,  that  this  shifting  of  scene  should  not  take  place  with 
such  rapidity  as  to  confuse  the  reader  with  regard  to  the  point  of 
view  from  which'  the  story  is  told.  Such  confusion  perhaps  exists 
in  paragraph  XXVI. 

In  addition  to  these  general  principles  of  selection  and  arrange- 
ment, it  is  well  for  a  student  to  note  the  personal  point  of  view,  so 
to  speak,  from  which  Froude  is  writing.  It  is  that  of  an  English- 
man who  looks  back  with  pride  to  an  English  victory,  and  is  plainly 
to  be  seen  in  the  tone  which  he  adopts.  He  constantly  conveys  to 
the  reader  the  impression  of  the  hopelessness  of  the  Spanish  expe- 
dition ;  all  the  outward  magnificence  and  apparent  might  merely 
add  to  the  English  triumph. 

III.  Plan  of  the  Narrative.  —  The  plan  of  the  narrative  may  be 
illustrated  by  the  following  scheme,  which  attempts  to  give  in 
parallel  columns,  and  paragraph  by  paragraph,  the  principal  ele- 


19^ 


Notes 


ments  —  the  action,  the  actors,  the  time  and  place  —  as  they  appear 
in  the  narrative.  The  first  column  indicates  the  main  divisions  of 
the  narrative,  based  on  the  changes  in  the  point  of  view ;  that  is, 
the  different  episodes.  These  stand  for  the  action.  The  second 
column  and  the  third  represent  the  two  classes  of  actors,  and  show 
how  the  action  is  carried  on,  now  by  the  Spanish,  now  by  the 
English.  The  fourth  column  shows  the  chronological  and  geo- 
graphical course  of  the  narrative.  The  Roman  numerals  refer  to 
the  paragraphs  as  "numbered  in  the  text. 


Main  Divisions. 


A.   Preparation 
of  the  Armada. 


The  Spanish. 


I.  Nations  and 
people  represented 
in  the  ejcpedition. 

II.  The  fleet  — 
the  galleons. 

III.  The  fleet  — 
the  galleasses,  mer- 
chant-ships, and 
caravels. 


IV.  Strength 
the  armament. 


of 


V.  The  supplies, 
sailors,  soldiers,  and 
supernumeraries. 

VI.  The  officers. 

VII.  The  defi- 
ciencies ;  prepara- 
tions in  Flanders. 

VIII.  The  relig- 
ious purpose  of  the 
Armada. 

IX. -XI.  The 
proclamation  of 
the  Cardinal-elect 
against  Elizabeth. 


The  English. 


[Meanwhile,  as 
is  stated  in  the 
preceding  part  of 
the  chapter,  the 
English  have 
been  making 
their  prepara- 
tions with  much 
embarrassment.] 


The  Time  and 
Place. 


Spring  of  1588. 
Spain. 


April  28-May  8, 
1588. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada 


193 


Main  Divisions. 

The  Spanish. 

The  English. 

The  Time  and 
Place. 

B.  The  voyage. 

XII.  The  Arma- 

May 19-29. 

da  sets  sail,  reaches 

. 

Ferrol, 

XIII.  And  again 

July   12-22. 

sets  sail. 

Ferrol. 

XIV.     The     pa- 

geant. 

XV.   The  quality 

of  the  fleet. 

XVI.     The    Ar- 

July 15-25.     Off 

mada  proceeds  on 

Ushant. 

the  voyage. 

XVII.     Encoun- 

July 20-30.     Off 

ters   a   storm,  and 

the  Lizard. 

C.   The 

alarm 

sights  England. 

XVIII.       The 

July  19-29. 

in  England. 

. 

English  first  sight 
the  Armada. 

XIX.  Condi- 
tion of  the  fleet. 

XX.  The  prep- 
arations on  land. 

D.     The 

first 

XXI.  The  Eng- 

encounter. 

XXIII.  The  Ar- 
mada lies  to  for  the 
night, 

XXIV.    And    the 

lish  fleet  cleared 
for  action. 

XXII.  The  Eng- 
lish see  the  Arma- 
da approaching. 

July  20-30.     Off 
Plymouth. 

Spanish     see     the 
English     approach 
them. 

XXV.  The  Span- 
ish attempt  to  close, 
but  are  out-sailed. 

July  21-31. 

194 


Notes 


The  Time  and 

Main  Divisions. 

The  Spanish. 

The  English. 

Place. 

XXVI.  They  are 

out-manoeuvred, 

XXVII.  And  are 

. 

unable  to  return  the 

English    fire    effec- 

tively. 

XXVIII.      They 
fight    bravely,   but 
are  worsted. 

XXIX.        The 

English  hang  on 
the    Spanish    till 
nightfall. 

XXX.-XXXI. 

OffTorbay. 

The     Capitana     is 

captured  by  Drake. 

XXXII.    Oquen- 

do's  galley  is  blown 

up. 

XXXIII.    The 
gain  to  the  Eng- 
lish. 

E.  The  fight  of 

XXXIV.      Help- 

the unfavourable 

Ju1y22-Augusti. 

the    second    and 

less     condition    of 

position    of    the 

Off  Portland. 

third  days.     (The 

the  Spanish,  and 

English. 

second  encounter.) 

XXXV.  They  at- 
tack    the     English 
and  become  some- 
what scattered. 

XXXVI.  The 

English       isolate 
the  San   Marcos, 
but    are    obliged 
to  haul  off. 

XXXVII.  En- 
thusiasm in  Eng- 
land.    The  fleet 

July23-August2. 

is  increased. 

The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  A7'niada 


195 


Main  Divisions. 

The  Spanish. 

The  English. 

The  Time  and 
Place. 

G.  The  fight  of 
the     fourth     day. 
(The     third     en- 
counter.) 

XXXVIII.     The 
galleasses       attack 
the     English    with 
little  effect, 

and  the    English 
receive  more  am- 
munition. 

July24-August3. 
Near  the  Isle  of 
Wight. 

//.The  first  gen- 
eral engagement. 

XL.   The   Span- 
ish suffer  severely. 

XLI.         Sidonia 
writes  to  Parma. 

XXXIX.     The 

English  attack  the 
Spanish  in  force. 

July25-August4. 
Off  the  Isle  of 
Wight. 

/.    The    move- 
ments of  the  two 
fleets. 

XLII.  The  Span- 
ish    sail     up     the 
Channel, 

and   the  English 
put    in    for   sup- 
plies. 

July26-August5. 

XLI  1 1.           The 
Spanish    bring   up 
in  Calais  Roads, 

and   the   English 
anchor  near  them. 

July27-August6. 
In  the  Straits  of 
Dover. 

XLIV.     Sidonia 
communicates  with 
the  French, 

XLV.  And  again 
sends  to  Parma. 

XLVI.     Parma's 

embarrassed    posi- 

tion. 

XLVII.           He 

promises    to    give 
what  help  he  can. 

XLVI  1 1.  Uneasi- 
ness of  Sidonia. 

XLIX.        The 
grave  case  of  the 
English  fleet. 

L.    The  admi- 
rals hold  a  coun- 
cil of  war, 

JulyaS-Augusty. 
Off  Calais. 

196 


Notes 


The  Time  and 

Main  Divisions. 

The  Spanish. 

The  English. 

Place. 

LI.     And    de- 
termine to  drive 
the  Spanish  from 
Calais  Roads  by 
fire-ships. 

LI  I.  The  Span- 

ish, in   alarm,  slip 

their    cables,    and 

stand  out  to  sea. 

LIII.   Howard 

July29-August8. 

foUovi'S  and  cap- 

Morning.         Off 

tures  a  galleass, 

Calais. 

LIV.     But     is 

driven  off  by  the 

French. 

y.  Second  gen- 

LV.    Seymour 

Morning.        Off 

eral  engagement. 

sets      upon     the 
wing  of  the  Span- 
ish. 

LVI.       Drake 
attacks  Sidonia. 

Gravelines. 

LVI  I.  Howard 

Noon.            Off 

comes  up.    They 

Gravelines. 

sink  many  Span- 

ish vessels. 

IV.  Questions  on  the  Structure  of  the  Essay.  —  Assuming  the 
foregoing  table  to  represent  in  a  general  way  the  structure  of 
the  essay,  we  have  still  to  ask  ourselves  several  questions  on 
the  details  of  structure,  especially  with  reference  (i)  to  the  method 
by  which  the  narrative  moves  forward,  (2)  to  the  ways  in  which 
new  material  is  introduced,  and  (3)  to  the  binding  together  of  the 
whole  into  a  coherent  unit.  (In  the  references  to  the  text  the  num- 
bers stand  for  the  page,  the  paragraph,  and  the  line.) 

2,  I.  I,  2.  The  opening  sentence  marks  the  transition  in  the 
narrative.     What  is  the  value  of  each  adjective  in  looking  back  to 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  197 

a  preceding  paragraph  ?  How  does  the  sentence  prepare  the  way 
for  the  discussion  of  the  preparations  at  Lisbon?  —  1,  2-4.  How 
many  paragraphs  does  the  second  sentence  introduce? 

3,  n.  1-4.  The  first  sentence  of  the  paragraph  clearly  looks 
back  to  the  preceding  paragraph  ;  how  does  it  introduce  the  present 
paragraph,  if  at  all?  —  3,  5-7.  Froude  here  follows  the  order  of 
time,  though  he  is  dealing  throughout  these  opening  paragraphs 
with  explanation  of  a  descriptive  sort.  The  sentence  in  question 
has  really  a  narrative  structure ;  the  equipment  of  the  galleons,  the 
laying  in  of  the  stores,  the  embarkation  of  the  crews,  —  these  are  ar- 
ranged in  the  order  in  which  they  would  natui  ally  have  taken  place. 
—  3,  8,  9.  In  view  of  the  preceding  sentence,  should  you  say  that 
this  sentence  also  is  of  narrative  structure  ?  Does  the  paragraph,  as 
a  whole,  seem  to  have  unity  {cf.  Rhetoric^  pp.  154-156)  in  the  selec- 
tion of  facts  ? 

4,  IV.  22-25.  Does  the  sentence  really  belong  to  VII.?  Com- 
pare the  sentence  (7,  8,  9)  :  "  The  short  supply  of  cannon-cartridge 
was  one  serious  deficiency." 

5,  V.  3.  Does  the  paragraph  emphasis  {cf.  Rhetoric,  pp.  156- 
160)  seem  to  you  good?  To  how  much  of  the  paragraph  is  this 
opening  sentence  an  introduction?  —  5,  12.  Does  not  much  of  the 
paragraph,  and  especially  the  sentence  beginning  "Of  soldiers," 
properly  belong  in  I.?  If  not,  explain,  on  the  principle  of  para- 
graph-unity, its  right  to  stand  here. 

6,  VI.  1-5.  What  does  the  sentence  imply  regarding  the  con- 
tents of  the  paragraph?  Does  the  unity  of  the  paragraph  seem 
to  be  better  than  that  of  the  preceding  paragraphs?  Looking  at 
the  narrative  as  a  whole,  can  you  see  any  reason  for  this  catalogue 
of  the  officers  in  one  paragraph  rather  than  the  sprinkling  of  their 
names,  with  some  account  of  their  lives,  throughout  the  narrative,  as 
occasion  requires ?     (C/.  XXVIII.) 

7,  VII.  8.  This  paragraph  (with  the  four  following)  is  virtually 
a  summing  up  of  the  position  of  the  Spanish  before  the  sailing  of 
the  Armada.  {Cf.  the  opening  sentence  of  XII.)  It  lays  chief 
stress  on  the  few  points  of  weakness  which  led  to  the  defeat  of  the 
Spanish.  The  last  part  of  the  paragraph  (8,  8),  by  giving  us  the 
situation  of  the  Spanish  in  Holland,  prepares  the  way  for  a  more 
speedy  narration  of  the  battle  in  the  Channel  than  would  otherwise 
be  possible  :  once  knowing  how  Parma  is  placed,  we  are  not  obliged 


198  Notes 

to  halt  in  the  heat  of  the  battle  in  order  to  find  out  who  Parma  is, 
where  he  was,  and  what  he  was  doing.  {Cf.  XVI.,  XXXIV.,  XLI., 
XLV.,  XLVII.)— 8,  22—9,7.  How  do  you  account  for  the  fact 
that  the  operations  of  the  Dutch  do  not  receive  the  full  and  vivid 
treatment  at  this  point  that  the  doings  of  the  English  receive  later 
on,  especially  since  the  Dutch  are  hardly  mentioned  again? 

9,  VIII.  8—13,  XL  23.  Do  these  four  paragraphs,  which  tran- 
scribe the  proclamation  of  the  Cardinal-elect,  seem  to  you  to  add 
anything  to  the  unity  of  the  whole  narrative  ^  {Cf.  Rhetoric,  177,  178, 
and  notes  on  the  present  extract,  II.  2,  p.  190.)  Do  they  justify  their 
existence  by  showing  in  a  striking  and  vivid  way  the  feeling  of  the 
Spanish  toward  the  English?     {Cf.  2,  17.) 

14,  XII.  1-7.  Does  the  sentence  mark  a  new  division  of  the  sub- 
ject? Explain  in  detail  how  it  sums  up  what  has  gone  before.  Is 
what  follows  more  truly  narrative  than  what  precedes,  i.e.,  do  the 
events  follow  each  other  more  strictly  in  the  order  of  time? 

The  present  paragraph  is  fairly  typical  of  Froude,  and  may  be 
analyzed  in  some  detail  to  serve  as  a  model.  The  main  part  of  the 
first  sentence,  ^'  The  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  sailed  from  Lisbon  on 
the  I9th-29th  of  May,"  states  an  event  of  a  rather  general  sort,  is  a 
narrative  statement.  The  two  following  sentences,  "  The  northerly 
breeze  which  prevails  on  the  coast  of  Portugal  was  unusually  strong," 
and  "The  galleons  standing  high  out  of  the  water,  and  carrying 
small  canvas  in  proportion  to  their  size,  worked  badly  to  windward," 
give  the  causes  leading  to  the  result,  "  They  were  three  weeks  in 
reaching  Finisterre."  A  new  cause  then  comes  into  play, "  The  wind 
having  freshened  to  a  gale,"  and  leads  to  a  further  result,  also  stated 
as  an  event,  "  They  were  scattered,  some  standing  out  to  sea,  some 
into  the  Bay  of  Biscay."  The  progression  of  the  rest  is  of  the  same 
sort,  a  narrative  of  cause  producing  effect,  the  whole  usually  arranged 
in  the  order  of  time.  The  whole  is  very  general,  however ;  Froude 
does  not  take  us  into  the  details  of  the  voyage,  but  contents  himself 
with  summing  up  the  significant  facts  of  the  voyage,  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing sentences :  "  The  officers,  however,  were,  on  the  whole,  well 
satisfied  with  the  qualities  which  the  ships  had  displayed.  A  mast 
or  two  had  been  sprung,  a  few  yards  and  bowsprits  had  been  carried 
away ;  but  beyond  loss  of  time  there  had  been  no  serious  damage." 
In  the  fight  itself,  Froude  naturally  goes  more  deeply  into  details, 
but  the  same  sort  of  structure  and  method  is  to  be  frequently  noted. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  199 

15,  XIII.  I.   A  paragraph  of  plain  narrative. 

15,  XIV.  6.  One  of  the  few  descriptive  paragraphs  in  the  entire 
chapter.  Its  purpose  is  obviously  to  heighten  the  dramatic  effect  of 
the  narrative,  and  this  purpose  is  clearly  shown  in  the  two  last  sen- 
tences.    Can  you  account  for  XV.  on  similar  grounds.? 

16,  XV.  16-20.  Do  not  the  two  sentences  seem  to  be  apart  from 
the  main  idea  of  the  paragraph  ?  Should  they  not  rather  be  made 
a  part  of  XVI.? 

16,  XVI.  21.   Compare  the  structure  with  that  of  XII. 

17,  XVII.  3.  What  should  you  say  with  regard  to  the  coherence 
{cf.  Rhetoric,  pp.  161-164)  of  the  paragraph?  For  example,  does 
the  sixth  sentence  (17,  12-14)  make  matters  clearer,  or  aid  in  the 
development  of  the  thought?     Has  the  paragraph  complete  unity? 

18,  XVIII.  12.  The  paragraph  is  purely  one  of  transition,  and 
seems  to  change  the  point  of  view  from  the  Spanish  to  the  English. 
Note  the  method :  the  first  sentence  refers,  in  subject,  to  the  pre- 
ceding paragraph,  but  states  the  subject  from  a  new  point  of  view ; 
the  second  explains  the  last  clause  of  the  first,  and  leads  directly  to 
the  following  group  of  paragraphs.  Note  that  the  time  goes  back  a 
day  to  bring  up  the  English  even,  so  to  speak,  with  the  Spanish,  at 
their  meeting,  as  narrated  in  XXIII.  —  Do  you  see  any  reason  for 
bringing  in  the  English  at  this  point?  Why  not  keep  the  Spanish 
point  of  view  throughout  ? 

18,  XIX.  18.  Do  you  note  any  narrative  of  events  in  the  para- 
graph {cf.  XXL),  or  does  it  serve  a  purpose  like  that  of  I.-XL? 
If  the  latter,  why  is  the  passage  not  so  long  as  the  passage  referred 
to?  (C/*.  the  opening  sentence  of  I.,  and  scheme,  p.  192,  opposite 
I. -XI.) 

19,  XX.  3.  Could  the  paragraph  have  been  omitted  {cf.  VIII.- 
XI.)  as  irrelevant  to  the  subject?  Do  you  see  any  object  in  the 
digression  about  Leicester  (9-16)?  What  change  would  the  omis- 
sion of  the  paragraph  necessitate  in  the  wording  of  the  opening 
sentence  of  XXL?  — 19,  3,  4.  Compare  the  function  of  the  intro- 
ductory sentence  with  that  of  XIX. 

20,  XXL  I.  The  manner  of  treatment  should  be  compared  with 
that  of  XIX. 

20,  XXII.  13.  The  narrative  method  of  this  bit  of  description 
should  be  noted.  The  paragraph  is  developed  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  English ;   that  is,  we  are  given  the  facts  as  they 


200  Notes 

appear  to  the  sight  of  the  English.  Observe  the  coherent  order  of 
events :  the  lookouts  first  see  the  sails  at  either  wing ;  then  the 
sails  at  the  centre  rise  into  view;  but  it  is  not  until  the  hulls 
become  plainly  visible  that  the  count  of  numbers  is  made. 

21,  XXIII.  II.  From  what  point  of  view  is  the  narration  made, 
the  Spanish  or  the  English  ?  How  do  you  account  for  the  fact 
that  the  opening  sentence  is  not  connected  with  the  remainder  of 
the  paragraph  ?  Should  the  paragraph  have  been  divided  differ- 
ently ?  —  21,  14-17.  How  does  the  sentence  connect  the  paragraph 
with  XVII.  and  XVIIL? 

21,  XXIV.  25.  Note  that  the  very  short  paragraph  deals  with  an 
event  aside  from  the  main  trend,  and  that,  on  the  whole,  the  scene 
is  treated  with  greater  minuteness  than  is  usual  in  the  chapter.  Had 
the  whole  story  been  done  in  this  proportion,  it  would  have  been 
several  times  as  long.  The  paragraph  could  readily  be  stricken  out ; 
but  does  it  not  seem  to  add  to  the  dramatic  force  of  the  first  meet- 
ing of  the  English  with  the  Spanish  ? 

22,  XXV.  I.  The  two  opening  sentences  of  the  paragraph  are 
almost  wholly  narrative.  Note  that  the  remainder  of  the  para- 
graph (4-14)  deals  entirely  with  the  general  effect  of  the  English 
method  of  fighting  and  is  really  descriptive.  (6/*.  XII.)  Distinguish 
in  the  four  following  paragraphs  strict  narrative  from  other  kinds  of 
writing.  Do  these  changes  from  direct  specific  narrative  to  general 
effects  seem  to  you  (i)  to  relieve  the  tension  which  the  relating  of  a 
number  of  particular  things  would  result  in,  or  (2)  do  they  enable 
Froude  to  say  in  a  few  words  what  as  simple  narrative  would  have 
required  much  detail? 

23,  XXVII.  2-6.  How  does  this  bit  of  detail  help  on  the  more 
general  facts  of  the  narrative  which  precede  ?  For  arrangement 
compare  this  paragraph  with  XXV.  Do  you  think  that  better 
paragraph-unity  would  have  been  secured  by  putting  general  con- 
siderations in  one  paragraph  and  particular  things  in  another  ? 

23,  XXVIII.  7,  8.  Does  the  sentence  properly  emphasize  the  para- 
graph?    Should  it  not  have  been  placed  at  the  close  of  XXVII.? 

24,  XXXI.  20— 27,  XXXII.  5.  Had  the  preceding  paragraphs 
been  treated  with  the  same  detail  and  in  the  manner  of  these  two, 
they  would  obviously  have  taken  much  more  space.  Does  this  fact 
throw  any  light  on  Froude's  method  of  selecting  and  bringing  out 
material  ? 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  201 

27,  XXXIII.  6.    Has  the  paragraph  unity? 

27,  XXXI V.  II.  Note  that  the  main  idea  of  the  paragraph  is 
the  letter  of  Sidonia  to  Parma.  This  is  introduced  by  the  opening 
four  sentences.  Is  the  situation,  however,  as  explained  in  these 
four  sentences  necessary  to  the  main  idea  of  the  paragraph  ?  Com- 
pare the  situation  in  the  following  paragraph.  To  put  the  matter 
differently,  would  the  narrative  have  been  equally  clear  without  them  ? 

28,  XXXVI.  24.  Note  how,  as  in  many  cases,  Froude  prefaces  a 
particular  bit  of  narrative  with  a  general  observation. 

29,  XXXVII.  19-21.  Note  how  the  capture  and  the  conveying 
of  the  Venetian  vessel  to  Weymouth  open  the  way  for  a  digression. 
Does  this  add  to  the  interest  or  bring  in  new  actors?  Compare  the 
closing  sentence  of  the  paragraph  (30,  29). 

31,  XXXVIII.  15-21.  In  the  sentence  the  time-order  and  the 
sequence  of  events  are  not  kept  together.  Some  confusion  results : 
Sir  George  Carey  presumably  saw  the  shot  "  flying  thick  as  musket- 
balls  "  in  the  general  engagement  which,  as  we  are  told  in  the  closing 
sentence  of  the  paragraph,  Howard  determined  to  try  on  Thursday. 

32,  XXXIX.  4—34,  XLI.  19.  Note  how  in  these  three  para- 
graphs the  narrative  of  the  battle  is  presented  (i)  by  a  specific 
account  of  the  encounter  between  the  Ark  Raleigh  and  Oquendo, 
(2)  by  a  general  statement  of  the  results  of  the  fight,  and  (3)  by 
the  letter  of  Sidonia  to  Parma  describing  his  condition. 

34,  XLI  I.  20-22.  Note  that  the  time  and  the  condition  of  the 
weather  are  constantly  pressed  upon  the  reader's  mind.  Compare 
35,  11-14.     Do  these  references  make  the  situation  clearer? 

36,  XLIV.  5.  The  paragraph  introduces  a  long  digression,  the 
object  of  which  is  to  state  the  position  of  the  Spanish  on  sea  and 
on  land.  Note  the  purely  transitional  use  of  the  paragraph.  Does 
it  seem  also  to  prepare  the  situation  of  LIV.  ? 

The  structure  of  the  digression,  XLV.-XLVIII.,  should  be  borne 
in  mind.  The  four  paragraphs  form  a  sort  of  loop :  XLV.  starts  the 
circle,  by  giving  Sidonia's  letter  to  Parma ;  this  allows  a  statement 
of  Parma's  position  to  be  made  in  XLVI. ;  and  Parma's  answer, 
in  XLVIL,  opens  the  way  to  a  statement,  in  XLVIIL,  of  the 
exact  position  of  the  Spanish  fleet  at  the  same  place  and  only  a  few 
hours  after  their  anchoring.  Can  you  see  any  reason  for  the  digres- 
sion at  this  point?  Does  it  (i)  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  sea- 
fight,  or  (2)  add  a  new  element  of  interest  by  showing  the  Spanish 


202  Notes 

from  a  different  point  of  view,  or  (3)  prepare  the  way  for  a  like 
digression  with  regard  to  the  EngHsh,  and  thus  depict  the  situation 
before  the  great  sea-fight  of  Monday?  On  the  whole,  do  the  transi- 
tions from  paragraph  to  paragraph  seem  easily  made? 

39,  XLIX.  4.  Note  that  the  paragraph  forms  a  loop  similar  to 
that  of  the  four  preceding.  It  should  be  traced  sentence  by 
sentence. 

40,  L.  25.  There  is  some  similarity  between  the  first  half  of  this 
paragraph  and  XLVIII.  Each  describes  the  final  position  of  the 
fleet ;  the  misfortune  of  the  Spanish  in  losing  their  pilots,  however, 
gives  them  no  clue  to  finding  an  escape  ;  the  hard  case  of  the  Eng- 
lish incites  them  to  send  fire-ships  against  the  Armada  and  so  pre- 
cipitates the  great  fight  oif  Gravelines.  Compare  the  last  sentence 
of  the  paragraph.     Is  the  unity  of  the  paragraph  preserved? 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  first  two  sentences  of  the  paragraph 
are  largely  the  result  of  conjecture  on  Froude's  part ;  they  heighten 
the  effect  rather  than  add  to  the  truth  of  the  narrative.  The  re- 
maining sentences  are  more  like  facts. 

41,  LI.  21.  The  situation  of  the  paragraph  and  its  connection 
with  the  preceding  should  be  noted.  The  paragraph  contains  the 
specific  working  out  of  the  general  situation  of  the  preceding.  The 
connection  of  events  may  be  designated  as  follows :  since  the 
English  are  in  hard  straits,  they  determine  to  do  something ;  and 
since  the  Spanish  cannot  be  got  at  directly,  the  English  determine 
to  drive  them  where  they  can  be  got  at ;  to  do  this  the  only  feasible 
method  is  the  fire-ships ;  these  the  English  prepare,  and,  since  the 
position  of  the  Spanish  is  open  to  the  attack  and  the  wind  favour- 
able, send  them  against  the  Spanish.  The  paragraph  is  good 
narrative  both  in  order  of  time  and  in  order  of  cause  and  effect.  — 
42,  II,  12.  Does  the  sentence  make  the  situation  clearer  or  more 
vivid  ? 

42,  LII.  16.  Note  the  transition  as  expressed  in  "thus."  What 
advantage  do  you  see  in  this  change  of  the  point  of  view?  Why 
should  not  the  scene  be  described  as  it  appeared  to  the  English  ? 

43,  LIII.  21 — 44,  2.  The  sentence  should  be  analyzed  in  some 
detail  to  see  just  how  it  introduces  the  change  in  the  point  of  view, 
and  the  different  episodes  which  follow.  Note  how  in  the  remain- 
der of  the  paragraph  the  elements  of  the  situation,  which  lead  to  the 
capture  of  the  galleass,  are  introduced. 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Annada  203 

Note  how,  as  is  often  the  case,  Froude  uses  a  gen- 
eral statement  of  the  situation  preceding  the  particular  events.  Com- 
pare I.  and  also  the  structure  of  the  entire  selection. 

46,  LV.  5-9.  The  sentence  contains  a  statement  of  the  purpose 
which  led  the  English  to  precipitate  the  great  and  final  fight,  as 
narrated  in  the  closing  paragraphs.  Note  the  strongly  emphasized 
steps  of  contrast  by  which  this  idea  is  introduced.  The  time  of  the 
paragraph  and  that  of  the  following  is  obviously  the  same  as  in 
LIV. 

46,  LV.  9,  10.  Does  the  sentence  seem  to  help  the  situation  ? 
Compare  the  statement  with  regard  to  the  weather  in  the  preceding 
paragraphs.     Does  the  paragraph  as  a  whole  have  unity  of  effect  ? 

47,  LVI.  9.  Note  how  the  paragraph  laps,  so  to  speak,  on  the 
preceding.  In  LV.  up  to  46,  25,  Drake  and  Seymour  —  though 
Drake  had  been  the  strategist  —  have  been  taken  up  together. 
The  remainder  of  the  paragraph  then  deals  with  Seymour's  part 
in  the  battle.  LVI.  deals  with  Drake  down  to  the  last  sentence,  at 
which  point  the  effect,  presumably,  of  the  attacks  of  both  Drake  and 
Seymour  on  the  Spanish  is  given.  The  paragraphs  may  be  repre- 
sented thus : 

Paragraph  LV.  LVI. 

Seymour 
Drake 

47,  LVII.  22,  23.  Does  this  sentence  properly  emphasize  the 
paragraph  ?  In  general,  with  what  kind  of  matter  does  the  para- 
graph deal  and  how  does  it  tell  the  story  ?  —  48,  14-17.  What  does 
the  sentence  tell  you  with  regard  to  the  point  of  view  of  the  para- 
graphs immediately  to  follow  ? 

V.  Summary.  —  The  foregoing  questions  are  naturally  some- 
what scattering,  and  their  results  should  accordingly  be  brought 
under  several  heads.  This  the  student  may  be  aided  in  doing  by 
the  following  general  questions : 

1 .  As  regards  the  progress  of  the  narrative,  do  the  events  seem 
to  depend  more  on  the  order  of  time  or  on  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect  ?  {Cf.  XVII.,  XXXI.,  and  others.)  Are  the  dates  and 
places  clearly  indicated  ? 

2.  As  regards  the  handling  of  the  situation,  do  you  notice  any 
prevailing  tendency  on  the  part  of  Froude  to  state  carefully  (i)  the 
positions  of  the  actors  and  (2)   the  other   conditions  before  he 


204  Notes 

begins  the  narrative  of  the  fight  ?  (C/".  XXXII.)  Can  you  say  the 
same  of  the  structure  as  a  whole  ?  How  are  new  elements  of 
the  situation  brought  in  ?  {Cf.  XXXVII.)  Are  any  elements  in 
the  situation  unnecessary  to  a  complete  setting  in  order  of  the 
mechanism  of  the  narrative  ?  {Cf.  XXXIX.)  Are  there  any 
digressions  which  take  the  reader  away  from  the  chief  actors,  the 
English  and  Spanish  sea-forces,  and  the  main  subject,  the  defeat 
of  the  Armada  ?     (^Cf.  XLIV.) 

3.  As  regards  the  point  of  view,  can  you  make  any  grouping  of 
paragraphs  ?  {Cf.  Plan.,  p.  192.)  Does  the  point  of  view  shift  in 
any  paragraphs  ?     {Cf.  XXIII.) 

4.  With  regard  to  the  principles  of  composition  {Rhetoric,  Chap. 
X.),  do  you  note  any  violations  of  unity,  coherence,  and  emphasis 
in  paragraphs?  Are  there  many  such  ?  Do  you  note  a  tendency 
to  strongly  marked  transitions  betvv^een  paragraphs?  {Cf.  XIV., 
XLIV.,  and  others.) 

VI.  General  Suggestions.  —  A  student  will  do  well  to  examine 
other  historical  narratives  to  familiarize  himself  with  simple  struc- 
ture. Good  specimens  are  Macaulay's  account  of  the  battle  of 
Sedgemoor  {History.,  Ch^p.  V.),  Parkman's  narrative  of  the  battle 
on  the  Plains  of  Abraham  {Mojttcalm  and  Wolfe,  Chap.  XXVII.), 
Motley's  chapter  on  the  taking  of  Antwerp  {The  United  Nether- 
lands, Chap.  I.),  and  others.  Battles  generally  furnish  the  best 
material ;  but  excellent  matter  for  analysis  can  be  found  in  histori- 
cal narratives  of  a  less  bellicose  sort,  not  only  in  the  authors 
already  named,  but  in  Gibbon,  Prescott,  Grote,  Green,  and  others. 
Books  like  Grant's  Mejnoirs  furnish  narrative  of  a  simple,  clear, 
straightforward  kind.  Less  near  truth  than  the  last  class  and  less 
simple,  but  still  based  on  fact,  are  such  pieces  as  De  Quincey's  The 
Spanish  Military  Nun  and,  better,  The  Revolt  of  the  Tartars,  or 
the  appendix  to  Mnrder  considered  as  ofte  of  the  Fi7ie  Arts,  in  all  of 
which  there  is  much  colouring.  In  fictitious  narrative  the  variety  of 
treatment  is  so  various  that  the  question  need  not  here  be  elabo- 
rated. In  general,  a  student  will  greatly  aid  his  comprehension  of 
the  structure  of  any  of  these  narratives,  if  (i)  he  observes  the  object 
the  writer  has  in  view,  and  (2)  makes  an  analysis  of  the  situation 
to  see  what  facts  are  necessary  to  bring  out  the  actors  and  events 
clearly  and  to  give  the  narrative  movement,  and  (3)  notes  the 
method  of  connecting:  these  events. 


Personal  Experietice  and  Review  205 


II.    PERSONAL  EXPERIENCE  AND   REVIEW 

I.  Object  of  the  Selection.  —  The  chapter  from  Stevenson  rep- 
resents structure  of  a  different  sort  from  that  of  the  story  of  the 
defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada.  It  represents,  so  to  speak,  a  simple 
and  incomplete  kind  of  thought-structure.  In  the  former  selection 
we  were  dealing  with  events  as  they  follow  one  another  in  the  order 
of  time,  in  other  words,  with  definite,  actual  occurrences,  and  the 
problem  of  structure  was  simply  to  arrange  these  in  as  nearly  as 
possible  the  order  of  their  occurrence.  Here  we  find  specific  facts, 
but  (i)  they  are  not  necessarily  connected  with  one  another  in 
point  of  time,  and  (2)  they  are  used  to  lead  up,  through  the  illus- 
tration which  they  give,  to  the  more  general  observations  and  con- 
clusions of  the  author.  The  generalization,  even  though  its  worth 
be  small,  is,  then,  the  important  thing.  In  the  present  case  the 
arrangement  of  ideas  is  simple  enough :  the  chapter  consists  of  a 
very  few  impressions ;  it  does  not  attempt  to  give  a  rounded  and 
convincing  view  of  the  subject,  or  even  to  present  one  well-marked 
line  of  thought ;  it  merely  singles  out  a  few  of  the  author's  interest- 
ing thoughts.  As  such  its  charm  depends,  as  we  shall  see  later,  on 
the  style,  on  the  way  the  thing  is  said,  rather  than  on  the  structure, 
on  the  way  the  ideas  are  put  together, 

II.  General  Principles  of  Structure.  —  Comparatively  unimpor- 
tant as  is  structure  in  the  large  class  of  essays  of  which  this  stands 
as  an  example,  we  may  lay  down  several  general  principles  and  ask 
ourselves  several  questions  about  the  arrangement  of  the  ideas.  In 
the  preceding  selection  we  saw  that  the  purpose  of  the  author  and 
his  point  of  view  were  pretty  carefully  determined,  and  that  he 
selected  his  facts  to  set  forth  that  point  of  view.  Here,  where  the 
author  is  left  much  freer  to  choose  for  himself,  —  since  he  is  giving 
the  results  of  his  own  observation,  —  we  have  still  to  ask  ourselves 
what  his  purpose  is  and  what  his  point  of  view  is  —  if  his  facts 
really  illustrate  the  points  he  makes,  and  if  those  facts  are  really 
worth  making.  And  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  we  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  purpose  of  the  chapter  is  to  give  the  cream 
of  the  observations  and  impressions  from  the  host  that  crowd  even 
a  commonplace  voyage,  and  that  the  point  of  view  is  that  of  an  eager 
observer  of  his  fellow-men,  there  still  remain  several  questions  in 


206 


Notes 


regard  to  the  structure  of  the  thought.  Do  these  observations  seem 
to  be  numerous,  scattering,  and  haphazard,  or  are  they  few,  carefully 
chosen  toward  one  end,  and  part  of  a  general  scheme?  Are  there 
groups  of  ideas?  Are  there  any  useless  facts  and  paragraphs?  Is 
there  so  much  that  one  fails  to  get  a  unity  of  impression?  Does  the 
author  go  from  principles  to  facts  or  do  his  facts  lead  to  his  principles  ? 

Questions  of  this  sort  should  not  be  regarded  as  of  great  impor- 
tance ;  and  this  idea  cannot  too  constantly  be  borne  in  mind.  To 
repeat  again,  Stevenson,  as  may  be  inferred  from  the  vagueness  of 
his  title,  is  free  to  roam  about  as  he  pleases,  and  hence  any  undue 
subtlety  of  analysis  would  be  entirely  out  of  place. 

III.  General  Plan  of  the  Chapter.  —  The  following  table  gives, 
in  purposely  general  language,  the  groups  of  fact  and  thought.  It 
attempts  to  single  out  the  main  groups  of  thought,  to  subdivide  these 
down  to  the  paragraphs,  and  to  indicate  the  connection  of  the  whole 
essay  with  the  title.  The  language  of  the  topics  is  only  approximate 
in  the  numbered  paragraphs  and  also  in  the  more  general  headings. 
This  vagueness  is  unavoidable,  since  the  paragraphs  do  not  lend 
themselves  to  such  a  summary  of  propositions  as  is  possible  in  the 
following  essay ;  indeed,  such  a  method  would,  from  the  nature  of 
the  subject,  be  inappropriate. 


A.  Introduction. 


B.  The    company's 
view  of  me.    (Per- 
sonal experience.) 


r  That  of  the 
second 
cabin. 


That  of  the 
first  cabin. 


That  of  the 
women. 


That  of  the 
officers. 


I.  The  twofold  novelty  of 
my  situation. 

II.  The  different  opinions 
about  me  of  my  mates. 
Illustrations. 

III.  How  I  appeared  to 
the  cabin  passengers  in 
general. 

IV.  The  regard  in  general 
of  women  for  men  of 
inferior  station. 

V.  Their  regard  for  me  on 
board  ship.    Illustration. 

VI.  The  view  the  officers 
held  of  me  and  my  writ- 
ing. 

VII.  Their  opinion  of  my 
method  of  sleeping. 


Personal  Experience  and  Review 


207 


C.  My  view 

of  the 
company. 
(Review.) 


The 
food. 


The 

people. 


My  attitude 

toward 

them. 


My 

impressions 

of  them. 


VIII.  Effect  on  me  of  the 
humble  position  and  es- 
pecially of  the  food. 

IX.  The  pleasantness  of  my 
contact  with  the  second- 
cabin  people. 

X.  Their  gentleness  of 
heart  and  illogicality  of 
mind. 

XI.  Their  one-sided  view 
of  social  problems. 

XII.  Their  consequent 
helplessness. 

XIII.  Their  open  confes- 
sion of  idleness. 

XIV.  Illustration  of  their 
organized  idleness. 

XV.  Reasons  for  their  de- 
liberate idleness. 

XVI.  Interesting  but  prof- 
itless character  of  their 
talk. 

XVII.  The  human  side  of 
I-     their  talk. 


'  XVIII.  Why  working  peo- 

\      pie  are  interesting, 
sion.      L 


Their 
talk. 


impres- 


IV.  Questions  on  the  Structure  of  the  Chapter.  —  49,  I.  i.  Note 
the  antithesis  of  ideas  in  the  paragraph.  This  carries  out  the 
idea  in  the  phrase  "two  kinds."  In  the  following  paragraphs 
Stevenson  roughly  keeps  this  division. 

49,  II.  9.  Note  the  structure  of  the  paragraph.  Starting  (sen- 
tence i)  with  a  general  statement  of  Stevenson's  new-found  situation, 
it  leads  up  gradually  to  the  instances  of  the  regard  the  passengers 
had  for  Stevenson,  and  closes  with  a  generalization  on  their  lack  of 
acuteness.  Do  you  notice  any  corresponding  order  in  the  structure 
of  the  whole  chapter?  {Cf.  Plan^  above.)  50,  4-9.  How  does  the 
sentence  help  the  paragraph  on? 
2. 


2o8  Notes 

paragraph  to  the  preceding?     Does  it  add  anything  to  the  definite- 
ness  of  subject  of  II.? 

51,  IV.  ID.  Show  how  the  paragraph  is  connected  with  III.  and 
V.  Would  the  group  of  paragraphs  {cf.  Plan,  p.  206)  have  gained 
clearness  and  force  through  an  interchange  in  the  order  of  IV.  and 
V.  ?  Should  this  change  be  made,  what  necessity  would  arise  for 
alteration  in  the  emphasis  {cf.  Rhetoric^  pp.  156-160)  of  the  para- 
graphs ? 

52,  V.  5.  The  paragraph  structure  as  a  bit  of  method  is  worth 
noting.  Sentence  i  states,  so  to  speak,  the  proposition  to  be 
proved  —  that  Stevenson  was  to  the  ladies  of  the  cabin  an  "average 
man  of  the  steerage."  Sentence  2  leads  to  the  manner  of  the 
demonstration,  as  expressed  in  sentences  3,  4,  5,  6,  which  succes- 
sively describe  the  actors  —  the  woman,  Stevenson,  the  crowd,  the 
one  of  the  crowd.  Sentence  7  contains  the  point  of  the  story, 
quod  erat  deinonstrandiwi.  Sentence  8  heightens  the  climax  by 
describing  the  looks  of  the  girl  (and  it  will  be  noted  that  Stevenson 
does  not  observe  the  girl  carefully  until  his  attention  is  called  to 
her) .  With  this  last  sentence  the  fourth  should  be  compared  as  an 
example  of  management. 

53,  VIII.  27.  "My  new  position."  Has  this  reference  to  any 
part  of  I.?  —  53,  27-30.  Do  sentences  i  and  2  mark  off  a  new  divis- 
ion of  thought,  or  merely  introduce  the  paragraph  ?  Note  the  nar- 
rowing down  of  the  third  sentence  to  the  specific  subject  of  the 
paragraph. 

54,  IX.  19.  How  much  does  the  phrase  "In  other  ways"  intro- 
duce? In  general,  does  the  paragraph  seem  to  have  continuity,  or 
does  it  "scatter"?  What  is  the  chief  idea  of  the  paragraph,  and 
how  does  it  bear  on  the  subject  of  the  whole  chapter? 

56,  X.  5.  Is  the  paragraph  structurally  connected  with  the  pre- 
ceding? Does  the  paragraph  seem  to  have  unity  ?  {Cf.  Rhetoric, 
pp.  154-156.)     If  not,  are  the  digressions  worth  anything? 

58,  XI.  6.  From  the  point  of  view  of  paragraph  structure,  what 
do  you  notice  about  the  precedence  of  general  or  specific  ideas? 
Does  Stevenson  state  a  general  principle  and  bring  in  specific 
illustrations  and  observations,  or  does  he  lead  from  specific  facts 
to  some  generalization? 

59,  XII.  I.  How  is  the  connection  between  this  paragraph  and 
XI.  indicated? 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  209 

59,  XIII.  10-12.  Compare  the  transition  with  that  between  XI. 
and  XII.  The  last  sentence  (60,  5-7)  of  XIII.  is  an  interesting 
transition :  the  first  member  repeats  the  opening  sentence  (59,  10- 
12)  ;  the  last  leads  directly  to  the  next  paragraph. 

60,  XIV.  8-15.  The  paragraph  is  strictly  narrative  up  to  the  word 
"  explanation."  It  then  becomes  an  exposition  of  the  tapper's  trade. 
For  an  example  of  such  excellent  method  compare  V. 

61,  XV.  6.  Do  you  note  any  changes  of  subject  in  the  paragraph? 
If  so,  do  they  weaken  the  structure  ? 

61,  XVI.  24.  The  method  of  transition  by  which  Stevenson 
marks  off  the  larger  groups  of  thought  should  be  noted. 

63,  XVIII.  6.  Does  the  closing  paragraph  seem  to  you  to  be  in 
direct  line  with  XVII.,  or  does  it  sum  up  the  whole  section  (VIII.- 
XVIII.),  or  the  whole  chapter? 

V.  Summary.  —  Perso7ial  Experie7ice  and  Review,  then,  seems 
to  be  suggestive  rather  than  structural.  Giving  a  few  groups  of 
ideas,  it  attempts  to  arouse  one's  interest  by  its  pleasant  handling  of 
ideas  rather  than  to  appeal  to  one's  intelligence.  It  is  a  good  ex- 
ample of  what  an  active  mind  can  do  with  a  few  simple  facts,  and  it 
is  hardly  more,  nor  does  it  make  pretence  of  depth  or  power.  Cer- 
tainly there  is  not  a  wide  variety  in  structural  forms,  such  as  would 
be  indicated  in  paragraphs  and  groups  of  paragraphs.  It  leaves  the 
impression  that  more  might  have  been  said,  but  that  enough  has 
been  said  for  the  purposes  of  the  chapter  —  to  sum  up  a  few  impres- 
sions of  a  commonplace  event. 

VI.  General  Suggestions.  —  Many  of  Stevenson's  essays  and 
books  have  a  like  fragmentary  structure,  and  are  full  of  this  incom- 
plete, suggestive  generalization.  A  student  should  turn  to  the  less 
narrative  parts  of  Across  the  Plains  and  Travels  with  a  Donkey  for 
examples  of  the  same  kind.  In  Virginibus  Puerisque  and  Mejn- 
ories  and  Portraits  there  is  to  be  found  a  class  of  essays,  which, 
while  presenting  certain  lines  of  thought,  are  directed  not  so  much 
to  one's  intellect  as  to  one's  feeling,  and  which  are  less  valuable  as 
structure  than  for  suggestiveness  of  style.  The  student  should  also 
glance  at  other  essays  of  the  same  general  sort,  such  as  those  of  the 
school  of  Lamb  and  Hazlitt,  if  for  no  other  purpose  at  least  to  see 
how  some  stmcture  may  benefit  the  presentation  of  thought  and 
prevent  it  from  being  wholly  scattering  and  elusive. 


210  Notes 


III.   MACAULAY 


I.  Object  of  the  Essay. — The  essay  on  Macaulay  is  presented  as 
an  example  of  re  view- writing  of  a  high  grade.  Structurally,  it  is 
more  difficult  than  the  one  immediately  preceding  in  that  it  attempts 
to  present  opinions,  not  in  groups,  but  in  definite  lines  of  thought 
leading  up  to  one  end. 

II.  Principles  of  Structure.  —  In  addition  to  certain  fundamental 
principles  of  selection  and  arrangement,  such  as  we  have  seen  in 
selections  I.  and  II.,  there  are  other  points  to  be  noted  with  more 
exactness  in  this  essay,  and  in  essays  which,  like  this,  attempt  to 
present  lines  of  thought,  than  in  the  foregoing  essays.  In  the 
present  selection  they  are  essential  to  a  proper  understanding  of  the 
structure,  and  are  as  follows  : 

1 .  The  exact  purpose  of  the  essay.  This  is  found  in  the  open- 
ing paragraph  —  to  weigh  the  value  and  significance  of  Macaulay's 
ideas  and  briefly  to  sum  up  his  place  in  English  letters  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  appearance  of  Trevelyan's  Life.  As  Mr.  Morley  says, 
some  notion  of  what  a  reader  should  expect  of  the  book  he  is  about 
to  read  is  of  great  value  in  defining  his  ideas  and  sharpening  his 
critical  appreciation. 

2.  The  place  and  the  public.  The  purpose  is  further  con- 
ditioned by  the  character  of  the  audience  and  by  the  means  of 
communication.  It  should  be  noted  that  the  essay  was  written  for 
the  Fortnightly  Review^  which,  like  all  good  periodicals,  other  than 
those  devoted  to  special  subjects,  aims  to  give  popular  and  general 
rather  than  minutely  technical  and  learned  judgments.  Reviews 
of  this  sort,  however  high  their  aim  and  excellent  their  tone,  are 
often  called  upon  to  "produce  literary  graces  and  philosophical 
decorations  at  an  hour's  notice." 

3.  The  point  of  view  of  the  author.  The  reader  should  bear  in 
mind  that  Mr.  Morley,  as  will  readily  be  inferred  from  the  closing 
paragraph  of  the  essay,  belongs  to  that  very  age  whose  problems 
he  laments  Macaulay's  failure  to  foresee ;  and  this  advantage  he 
shares  with  such  severe  critics  of  Macaulay  as  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen 
{Macaulay:  Hours  in  a  Library,  Series  II.)  and  Mr.  J.  Cotter 
Morison  {Macaulay :  English  Men  of  Letters).  The  critical  stand- 
ards of  the  two  generations  are  different ;  the  present  demands  more 


Macaulay  211 

analysis  and  exposition  than  the  generation  of  Macaulay.  The 
point  of  view  of  the  author  is  a  consideration  always  to  be  made ; 
it  is  very  obvious  in  Froude  and  Stevenson,  but  in  the  selections 
from  those  two  authors  it  is  of  less  importance :  Froude  is  ob- 
viously writing  as  a  Protestant  Englishman,  and  Stevenson  is  deal- 
ing with  himself;  Mr.  Morley,  on  the  other  hand,  is  confessedly  in 
the  position  of  an  impartial  judge. 

III.  Plan  of  the  Essay.  —  How  the  line  of  thought  is  developed 
may  be  seen  in  the  following  plans  : 

A.  The  topic  form  (Mr.  Morley's  own  abstract  of  the  essay 
from  the  table  of  contents,  Critical  Miscellanies,  Vol.  I.)  is  the 
simplest : 

The  Life  of  Macaulay.  Not  meditative. 

Macaulay's  vast  popularity.  Macaulay's  is  the  prose  of  spoken  de- 
He  and  Mill,  the  two  masters  of  the        liverance. 

modern  journalist.  Character  of  his  geniality. 

His  marked  quality.  Metallic  hardness  and  brightness. 

Set  his  stamp  on  style.  Compared  with  Carlyle. 

His  genius  for  narration.  Harsh  modulations  and  shallow  ca- 
His  copiousness  of  illustration.  dences. 

Macaulay's,  the  style  of  literary  knowl-    Compared  with  Burke. 

edge.  Or  with  Southey. 

His  use  of  generous  commonplace.  Faults  of  intellectual  conscience. 

Perfect  accord  with  his  audience.  Vulgarity  of  thought. 

Dislike  of  analysis.  Conclusion. 

The  foregoing  plan  indicates  only  to  a  very  limited  degree  the 
structure  of  the  essay.  The  topics  stand  by  themselves  and  do  not 
fall  into  groups.  Consequently,  the  summary  is  useful  as  a  table  of 
contents ;  it  names  a  few  ideas  in  the  essay,  but  does  not  show  their 
connection  with  each  other.  In  general,  such  a  table  is  more  useful 
to  a  writer  or  a  speaker  than  to  a  reader,  since  it  furnishes  the 
former  with  an  outline  of  thoughts  already  in  mind ;  to  the  latter  it 
may  or  may  not  stand  for  anything.  What  the  line  of  thought  is, 
the  following  analysis  shows  more  clearly. 

B.  Paragraph  summary  of  the  essay : 

I.  It  is  well,  before  we  enter  into  an  examination  of  the  Life  of 
Macaulay,  to  determine  for  ourselves  what  kind  of  significance  or 
value  belongs  to  his  work. 

II.  Macaulay  is  among  the  first  few  English  writers  in  popularity. 


212  Notes 

III.  It  is  important  to  distinguish  the  causes  which  have  given 
Macaulay  this  popularity. 

IV.  To  Macaulay  modern  journalists  owe  most  of  their  faults,  as 
to  Mill  most  of  their  virtues. 

V.  Macaulay's  own  quality  was  far  from  that  of  the  men  who 
imitated  him  and  was  the  source  of  his  strength,  as  was  imitation  of 
that  quality  the  source  of  their  weakness. 

VI.  It  is  the  task  of  criticism  to  sum  up  both  a  writer's  merits 
and  defects ;  and  the  analysis  shows  that  Macaulay  contributed  no 
new  ideas  to  our  stock,  but  set  his  stamp  most  fixedly  on  style. 

VII.  He  who  touches  style  deeply  acquires  an  influence  over  the 
methods  of  thought  of  a  generation. 

VIII.  The  first  secret  of  Macaulay \s  popularity  was  his  genius  for 
narration  —  this  always  of  a  wholesome  kind. 

IX.  He  had  the  quality  of  telling  a  story  in  a  very  straightforward 
and  unmistakable  way. 

X.  He  had  something  to  say  about  nearly  all  the  important 
people  and  events  in  history. 

XI.  He  gave  the  awakening  middle  class  of  England  the  kind  of 
information  it  wanted  —  on  historical,  literary,  and  philosophical 
themes. 

XII.  The  great  literary  knowledge  displayed  in  Macaulay's  style 
and  the  spontaneity  of  its  allusions  are  marvellous,  and  make  it  very 
difficult  of  imitation. 

XIII.  Macaulay's  great  popularity  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  dealt 
chiefly  with  the  Commonplace. 

XIV.  He  dealt  bountifully  with  the  fine  Commonplaces  of  freedom 
and  love  of  country. 

XV.  He  was  in  exact  accord  with  the  feeling  of  his  time  ;  he  had 
few  ideas  and  these  he  was  sure  of. 

XVI.  He  failed  to  deal  with  the  larger  and  more  suggestive 
Commonplace  which  would  have  stimulated  the  reflective  reader. 

XVII.  He  had  not  the  power  of  thinking  abstractly,  and  of  medi- 
tating on  unseen  truth. 

XVIII.  These  qualities  are  found  in  his  prose  style  —  which 
always  says  something,  and  that  clearly. 

XIX.  His  prose  has  the  style  of  spoken  deliverance. 

XX.  His  prose  style,  though  clear  and  direct,  is  too  self-confident, 
arid  is  without  benignity. 


Macaulay  213 

XXI.  His  style  is  too  trenchant  for  fine  gradations  of  thought. 

XXII.  His  humour  is  laboured  rather  than  elastic. 

XXIII.  His  style  is  hard,  bright,  glaring,  often  trivial  in  its  details, 
and  is  too  often  made  to  order. 

XXIV.  There  was  in  him  no  tumult  to  repress,  no  reserve  of 
spirit ;  to  him  life  was  a  plain  affair. 

XXV.  A  comparison  between  him  and  the  genuine  masters  of 
English  prose  shows  how  this  lack  of  reserve  deprived  his  style  of 
deeper  charm. 

XXVI.  A  comparison  between  him  and  one  of  his  contemporaries, 
Southey,  shows  how  poor  is  the  sound  of  his  prose. 

XXVII.  He  pursued  effect  so  hotly  that  he  often  became  vulgar, 
coarse,  rude,  even  mean  and  ignoble. 

XXVIII.  The  same  pursuit  made  him  unscientific  and  untrue. 

XXIX.  To  sum  up,  Macaulay  was  wanting  in  that  he  failed  to 
do  more  than  invest  passing  fact  with  an  unreal  glory,  and  in  that 
he  suggested  no  problem  for  the  future. 

The  foregoing  paragraph  summary,  as  has  been  said,  shows  the 
main  idea  of  each  paragraph  devoid  of  its  ornament  and  emphasis, 
and  it  points  out  the  line  of  thought  in  a  general  way.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  shows  neither  the  structural  relation  that  the  ideas 
bear  to  one  another,  nor  the  proportions  of  the  ideas.  These  two 
points  are  brought  out  in  the  following  plan. 

C.  Skeleton  of  the  Essay :  —  [Note.  The  so-called  skeleton  which 
follows  attempts,  so  far  as  possible,  to  keep  the  headings  of  the  par- 
agraph summary.  Hence  only  the  main  ideas  are  presented,  and 
all  details  and  illustrations  which  go  to  support  the  conclusion  are 
omitted,  unless  they  are  too  important  —  as  is  the  case  in  the  last 
five  paragraphs  —  to  be  suppressed.  The  process  of  treatment  here 
adopted  is  twofold:  (i)  An  expanding  and  a  subdividing  in  the 
paragraphs  which  contain  the  chief  propositions  of  the  foregoing 
scheme ;  and  (2)  a  setting  in  of  the  other  paragraphs  until  each  has 
its  proper  subordination.  The  attempt  has  further  been  made  in  this 
brief  to  keep  the  tone  of  argument  or  of  exposition  as  either  is  the 
more  marked  in  the  text.  Thus  in  paragraphs  I. -VII.,  Mr.  Morley 
is  careful  to  support  his  steps  as  he  goes  along,  while  in  paragraphs 
VIII. -XII.  he  does  little  more  than  to  state  conclusions.  Hence,  in 
the  former  set  of  paragraphs  the  headings  are  stated  as  propositions, 
in  the  latter  as  topics  ;  and  the  same  method  has  been  used  through- 


214  Notes 

out.  In  paragraph  XXIX.  the  subdivision  is  comparatively  more 
exhaustive.  Section  G  is  placed  in  brackets  since  it  is  introduced, 
arbitrarily,  to  indicate  more  clearly  the  structure.] 

[I.]  A.    It  is  a  useful  practice  for  any  one  before  reading  a 

new  book  to  jot  down  his  previous  ideas  on  the 
subject. 
B.    Such  practice  can  be  carried  on  with  special  profit 
in  regard  to  Macaulay. 
I.    His  work  can  now  be  examined  in  a  disinter- 
ested spirit. 
[II.]  II.    He  was  an  author  of  great  popularity. 

[III.]  III.    He   left   a  decided   mark  on   the   thought   and 

expression  of  every  person  of  his  time. 
IV.    His  influence  on  journalism  was  especially  strong. 
[IV.]  I.    To  him   modern  journalists  owe  almost   all 

their  vices  (as  to  Mill  their  virtues). 
[V.]  a.   What  in  him  was  a  source  of  strength  and 

just  power,  became  mere  imitation  and 
weakness  in  his  followers. 
[VI.]  C.   In    this    examination    Macaulay's    work    must    be 

summed  up  very  carefully  and  impartially,  with- 
out cavil  or  carping. 
I.    His  influence  has,  in  an  age  of  reading,  been  a 
distinct  literary  force  on  the  quality  of  men's 
thought. 
II.    His  influence   on  style  as   a  representation  of 
thought  has  been  tremendous. 
[VII.]  D.   The  question  of  style  is  very  important. 

I.    In  general,  new  turns  of  expression  may  stand 

for  new  thoughts. 
II.    He  who  influences  the  style  of  a  generation  often 
directs  the  manner  of  thinking  as  well. 
[VIII.]         E.   The  points  of  excellence  in  Macaulay 's  work  are 
these : 
I.    He  had  a  genius  for  narration,  for  telling  a  tale, 
a  power  always  attractive  to  most  men. 
I.    He  had  a  remarkable  grasp  of  action,  move- 
ment, and  objective  fact. 


Macaiilay 


215 


[IX.] 

[X.] 
[XL] 

[XII.] 


[XIII.] 
[XIV.] 

[XV.] 


2.    He  could  tell  a  tale  with  remarkable  direct- 
ness —  though    he   often    set   forth   unim- 
portant details. 
II .  He  had  something  definite  and  pointed  to  say  about 
nearly  all  the  important  personages  of  history. 
I.    He  came  upon  the  world  of  letters  just  as 
the  middle  classes  were  beginning  to  read 
widely,  and  his  Essays  were  a  varied  and  vol- 
uminous storehouse  of  knowledge  for  them. 
III.    His  knowledge  was  accurate,  ready,  and  spon- 
taneous. 
F.   The  secrets  of  Macaulay's  popularity  were  these  : 
I.    He  dealt  chiefly  with  the  Commonplace. 
II.    He  dealt  especially  with  the  noble  Commonplaces 

of  freedom  and  love  of  country. 
III.    He  was  in  exact  accord  with  the  common  senti- 
ment of  the  day,  never  rose  above  it  except  in 
degree,  and  always  expressed  it. 
\G.   From  these  habits  of  mind  arose  his  defects :] 

I.    He  failed  to  reflect  the  more  generous  Common- 
places, and  to  suggest  spiritual  problems. 
II.   With  all  his  trenchancy.  he  had  not  the  power  of 
abstract  thinking  or  the  habit  of  meditation, 
necessary  to  all  great  work. 
[XVIII.]         III.    His   style,  which   reproduces  the  habits  of  his 
mind,  his  strength,  manliness,  directness,  and 
clearness,  reflects  in  its  form  these  bad  quali- 
ties also. 
[XIX.]  I.    It  rests'  on  a  fundamental  misconception  — 

that   written    prose   should   reproduce   the 
measures  of  spoken  prose. 
[XX.]  2.    It  has   little   grace,  harmony,  or   benignity, 

and  is  superficial. 
[XXL]  3.    It  is  too  unqualified,  too  certain. 

[XXI L]  4.    It  has  no  abandon. 

5.    It  is  harsh  and  inelastic. 
[XXI I L]  6.    It   is   merely  a  literary  instrument,  and,  as 

such,  fails  to  suggest  any  reserve  power  in 
the  writer. 


[XVI.] 
[XVII.] 


2l6 


Notes 


7.  It  often  deals  with  trivial  details. 

8.  It   is   often   merely   the   literary  picturesque 

made  to  order  (as  is  seen  by  comparing  it 
with  a  passage  from  Carlyle) . 
[XXIV.]  9.    It    continually   sounds    the   same   note  —  in 

which  it  reproduces  the  simple  directness 
of  Macaulay's  mind. 
[XXV.]  IV.    These  failings  appear  by  comparison  of  Macaulay 

I.   With  men  of  the  two  preceding  centuries,  as 
Clarendon  and  Burke. 
[XXVI.]  2.   With    contemporary    masters    of    style,    as 

S out hey. 
[XXVII.]  V.    Further,   his    style   as   an    expression   of   mind 

shows   faults   of   intellectual    conscience,   the 
result  of  his  hot  pursuit  of  effect. 

1.  Coarseness,  as  in  his  dealing  with  Boswell. 

2.  Flat  vulgarity,  as  in  his  characterization  of 

Montesquieu. 

3.  Distortion  of  truth  for  cheap  gaudiness,  as  in 

his  comment  on  Swift  and  Stella. 
[XXVIII.]  4.   Untruth,  as  in  his  criticism  of  Lucretius. 

[XXIX.j     H.   On  the  whole,  Macaulay's  work  has  little  permanent 
value  for  readers  of  to-day. 
I.    As  a  historian,  he  has  small  value. 
II.   As  a  man  of  letters,  he  failed  in  that 

1 .  He  spent  his  strength  on  the  passing  day. 

2.  He  left  untouched  the  deeper  problems  which 

have  become  the  familiar  tasks  of  the  present 
generation. 


D.  Stmimary :  —  In  brief,  the  scheme  of  structure  appears  to  be  as 
follows :  ( I )  to  show  the  importance  of  defining  one's  ideas  on  a 
subject  before  pursuing  it  farther  (I.) ;  (2)  to  apply  this  principle  to 
Macaulay's  literary  work  by  giving  the  main  points  of  interest  in  his 
literary  life  which  appeal  to  the  average  reader  (I.-V.)  ;  (3)  to 
state  the  importance  of  the  question  and  the  principle  on  which  the 
review  is  based  (VI.)  ;  (4)  to  state  the  main  point  of  the  discussion 
(VII.)  ;  (5)  to  sum  up  the  good  points  of  Macaulay  (VIII. -XII.)  ; 
(6)  to  show  how  the  good  qualities  of  his  work  (XI II. -XV.)  led 


Macaiilay  217 

(7)  to  his  shortcomings  (XVI.  and  XVII.)  and  especially  to  the 
defects  of  his  style  (XVIII.-XXVIII.)  ;  and  (8)  to  sum  up  the 
main  points  (XXIX.). 

IV.  Questions  on  the  Structure  of  the  Essay.  —  We  have  still  to 
determine  several  points  in  structure.  We  must  find  out  (i)  whether 
the  structure  as  outlined  in  the  plans  given  above  meets  the  con- 
ditions laid  down  (p.  210)  ;  (2)  whether  there  are  any  extraneous 
details  and  digressions  from  the  line  of  thought ;  (3)  in  what  order 
the  thought  is  presented ;  (4)  how  the  paragraphs  are  made  in 
detail ;  (5)  how  they  are  linked  together.  These  are  points  of 
structure  and,  as  such,  will  be  brought  out  by  the  following  notes 
and  queries : 

65,  I.  I,  The  following  schemes  show  the  structure  of  thought 
in  the  paragraph,  and  will  serve  the  student  as  a  model  for  the 
treatment  of  other  paragraphs : 

It  is  a  good  plan  to  set  down  your  ideas  of  a  book  before  you 
read  it,  as  did  Gibbon  and  Strafford;  and  since  a  life  of 
Macaulay  is  about  to  appear,  the  example  may  well  be  fol- 
lowed, especially  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  task  can  now 
be  accomplished  in  a  disinterested  and  critical  spirit. 

The  same  result  can  also  be  obtained  by  the  use  of  a  logical  brief 
of  the  ideas,  rather  more  detailed,  as  follows : 

It  is  worth  while,  before  examining  Mr.  Trevelyan's  Life  of 
Macaulay,  to  inquire  briefly  what  significance  or  value  belongs 
to  his  work. 
I.   Such  practice  is,  in  general,  useful,  since : 

I.  It  helps  to  give  clearness  and  reality  to  our  acquisitions 
from  books,  a  right  place  and  an  independent  shape. 
This  is  shown  in 

a.  Gibbon's  practice  ^  and 

b.  Strafford's  practice. 

II.   It  is  especially  suitable  to  Macaulay,  since: 

1.  His  life  is  to  appear  in  excellent  form,  and 

2.  We  may  now,  after  the  lapse  of  seventeen  years,  think 

of  him  disinterestedly. 

1  The  example  does  not  occur  in  the  article  in  the  Fortnightly  Review, 


2 1 8  Notes 

65,  I.  —  66,  3.  What  is  the  structural  value  of  the  position  of  the 
examples  from  Gibbon  and  Strafford  ?  Why  are  they  placed  at  the 
beginning? — 66,  3-5.  What  is  the  relation  of  the  first  member  of 
the  sentence  to  the  preceding  sentences?  —  66,  7.  In  a  word,  what 
does  the  phrase,  "At  this  moment,"  point  out  in  regard  to  the 
structure  of  the  paragraph?  —  66,  13-19.  Do  you  see  any  reason  for 
the  placing  of  the  main  sentence  at  this  point  in  the  paragraph  rather 
than  at  the  beginning?  —  66,  15.  How  do  the  words,  "  on  Strafford's 
plan,"  bind  the  first  and  the  last  of  the  paragraph  together? 

67,  II.  1-3.  What  is  the  value  of  the  opening  sentence?  How 
does  the  paragraph  structure  differ  from  that  of  I.?  Analyze  the 
progression  of  thought  in  the  paragraph. — 68,  5-7.  What  does  the 
closing  sentence  tell  you  about  the  purpose  of  the  paragraph? 

68,  III.  8-12.  What  relation  does  the  opening  sentence  bear  to 
the  rest  of  the  paragraph?  —  68,  9.  What  is  the  value  of  the  word 
"this"?  —  68,  12-14.  Explain  how  the  sentence  is  related  to  the 
preceding  sentence  and  to  the  following.  What  would  be  the  gain 
or  loss  in  striking  it  out?  —  68,  14-17.  If  the  third  sentence  con- 
tains the  topic  of  the  paragraph,  what  gain  to  the  ideas  comes  from 
the  following  sentences?  How  does  the  sentence  bear  on  para- 
graph I .  ? 

69,  IV.  7.  The  paragraph  structure  is  interesting.  Starting  with 
the  assertion  that  to  Macaulay  and  Mill  the  present  generation  of 
journalists  owes  most  of  its  traits,  and  giving  the  reason  for  ex- 
cluding such  a  man  as  Carlyle,  the  paragraph  goes  on  to  state  the 
points  of  similarity  between  Macaulay  and  Mill  (sentences  3  and 

4)  as  a  prelude  to  a  statement  (specifically  introduced  by  sentence 

5)  of  the  great  difference  in  their  influence.  Does  the  paragraph 
seem  to  help  the  reader  to  a  clearer  understanding  of  the  former 
paragraph  ? 

70,  V.  8.  Do  you  find  any  one  sentence  which  seems  to  contain 
the  gist  of  the  paragraph  ?  How  is  the  paragraph  connected  with 
IV.?  What  is  the  use  of  V.  as  related  to  IV.?  Does  Mr.  Morley 
seem  to  be  feeling  his  way  here  by  suggesting  a  number  of  things 
about  Macaulay? 

71,  VI.  24.  A  note  on  the  function  of  paragraph  VI.  is  perhaps 
worth  while.  The  paragraph  introduces  a  new  element  in  the  dis- 
cussion. After  stating,  in  a  general  way,  the  bad  effects  of  Macau- 
lay's  influence  (IV.)  and  tracing  these  to  his  strength  of  mind  (V.), 


Macaiday  219 

Mr.  Morley  turns  to  the  immediate  issue  —  which  is  to  examine 
more  exactly  and  in  an  impartial  spirit  the  good  and  the  bad  effects 
of  Macaulay^s  work.  The  insistence  on  this  careful  examination  is 
very  necessary;  for  it  is  the  crucial  point  of  the  essay  —  to  con- 
vince the  reader  that  the  examination  must  be  made,  and  made  in 
a  spirit  of  fairness.  Hence  the  length  and  explicitness  of  the  par- 
agraph. The  topic  is  contained  in  the  first  sentence,  but  is  got  at 
only  after  a  long  subordinate  clause,  which  sums  up  the  preceding 
paragraph  and  introduces  other  contingencies.  Does  the  paragraph 
throw  any  light  on  the  structural  value  of  the  preceding  digres- 
sions?—  72,  8.  What  is  the  value  of  the  emphatic  short  sentence? 
{Cf.  Rhetoric,  ^.  156.)  —  73,4.  Analyze  the  structural  function  of 
"  Now  "  in  relation  to  the  following  sentences.     How  about  "  But " 

(20)? 

74,  VII.  I .  What  is  the  function  of  the  paragraph  ?  Does  it  state 
the  specific  issue  of  the  essay? —  Should  you  say  that  the  first  seven 
paragraphs  of  the  essay  form  the  introduction  ? 

75,  VIII.  9.  Do  you  notice  any  general  change  in  the  structure  of 
the  paragraph  (and  the  following  four  paragraphs)  from  the  type 
of  the  foregoing?  Is  the  substance  stated  more  or  less  emphati- 
cally, directly,  and  with  more  or  fewer  supporting  reasons?  Can 
you  account  for  the  change,  if  any?  Does  the  opening  sentence 
tell  anything  about  any  of  the  following  paragraphs  ? 

76,  IX.  17.  Compare  the  structure  of  this  paragraph  with  that  of 
paragraph  II.     How  does  the  structure  differ  from  that  of  VIII.? 

77,  X.  16.  The  comparative  conciseness  of  the  paragraph  and 
the  precise  introduction  are  to  be  noted.  "Another  reason"  intro- 
duces the  topic  at  once.  Does  the  difference  in  manner  between 
this  arid  the  preceding  paragraph  signify  anything? 

78,  XI.  I.  How  is  the  paragraph  connected  with  the  preceding? 
Does  the  paragraph  really  add  anything  to  the  preceding?  Do  you 
notice  any  change  in  the  point  of  view,  or  in  the  method? 

79,  XII.  18.  What  is  the  topic-sentence  of  the  paragraph?  Do 
the  opening  sentences  mislead  you  in  regard  to  the  main  idea  of  the 
paragraph  ?  Can  you  account  for  the  obvious  difference  in  method 
between  this  and  the  preceding  paragraph  ? 

80,  XIII.  10.  What  does  a  comparison  of  the  paragraph  with  par- 
agraphs VI.  and  IX.  show  with  regard  to  the  structure?  Which 
is  the  topic-sentence?    Does  the  long  digression  seem  necessary? 


220  Notes 

{Cf.  VI.)  At  this  point  in  the  essay  do  you  note  any  change  in  the 
point  of  view?  Why  does  the  discussion  of  the  Commonplace  seem 
necessary  here  ? 

82,  XIV.  8-10.  How  does  the  opening  sentence  connect  XIII. 
and  XIV.  ?  — 82,  1 1 .  What  is  the  force  of  ''  yet "  in  the  structure  of 
the  paragraph?  Have  you  noticed  similar  structure  in  any  para- 
graph? {Cf.  VI.,  XV.)  — 84,  7-14.  What  is  the  function,  in  the 
paragraph,  of  the  closing  sentence  ? 

84,  XV.  15.  The  structural  effect  of  the  paragraph  is  worth  not- 
ing, though  part  of  the  total  effect  is  undoubtedly  due  to  style. 
Starting  with  the  general  assertion  that  Macaulay  "was  in  exact 
accord  with  the  common  average  sentiment  of  his  time,"  the  para- 
graph goes  on  by  a  series  of  contrasts  to  look  at  his  mind  from  two 
points  of  view.  For  example,  sentence  2  is  in  direct  contrast  to 
sentence  i;  "he  was"  —  "was  not"  is  the  order.  So,  too,  the 
halves  of  sentence  3  are  opposites  of  each  other;  and  the  opposition 
of  sentence  to  sentence  is  carried  out  in  the  paragraph.  How  does 
all  this  lead  into  the  next  paragraph  ?  Is  the  paragraph  emphasis 
plainly  indicated? 

86,  XVI.  3.  Show  how  in  the  paragraph  the  good  points  of 
Macaulay  are  converted  into  the  bad.  —  86,  7.  What  is  the  structural 
value  of  "and"?  — 86,  13.  Of  "yet"?  — 86,  20—87,  9.  What  part 
do  the  following  sentences  play  in  the  paragraph,  and  in  the  group 
of  paragraphs? 

87,  XVII.  10.  The  closeness  of  the  connection  in  thought  and 
phrase  between  this  and  the  preceding  paragraph  should  be  noted. 
Point  out  the  words  which  make  the  connection.  {Cf.  Rhetoric^ 
p.  175,  v.).  Do  you  notice  any  similarity  between  the  opening 
clause  of  this  paragraph,  and  that  of  XVI .  ? 

88,  XVIII.  I.  To  how  many  paragraphs  do  the  words  "  and  this  " 
refer?  —  88,  1-3.  Does  the  sentence  anticipate  a  long  discussion  of 
style?  If  so,  do  you  notice  in  the  arrangement  of  ideas  in  the  group 
of  paragraphs  any  similarity  to  that  of  the  whole  essay  up  to  this 
point?  Specifically,  from  what  point  of  view  does  the  paragraph 
look  at  Macaulay? 

89,  XIX.  3.  What  peculiarities,  if  any,  do  you  note  in  the  transi- 
tion of  this  paragraph  as  compared  with  the  three  preceding?  Is 
the  purpose  of  the  following  digression  (7 — 90,  8)  clear?  What  do 
you  regard  as  the  chief  sentence  of  the  paragraph  ?     How,  from  the 


Macanlay  22 1 

point  of  view  of  clearness   (cf.  Rhetoric^  pp.  187-197),  does  the 
arrangement  of  the  paragraph  strike  you  ? 

90,  XX.  23.  What  does  "  yet "  indicate  with  regard  to  the  structure 
of  the  paragraph  '^.  What  is  the  structural  value  of  "And  "  (23  and 
28)  at  the  beginning  of  the  two  following  sentences?  Do  these 
connectives  make  the  ideas  more  emphatic  as  well  as  more  coherent? 

91,  XXI.  12.  From  the  same  point  of  view,  note  the  function  of 
"  except."  Have  you  observed  many  other  examples  of  the  same 
sort  of  antithesis,  represented  by  the  formula,  //  is  .  .  .  but  .  .  . 
(Cf.  86,  13.) — 91,  15.  Note  how  the  phrase,  "To  such  persons," 
so  to  speak,  dovetails  (cf.  Rhetoric^  p.  175,  V.)  the  sentence  with 
the  preceding.  Should  you  say  that  there  are  many  examples  of 
the  same  sort  in  the  essay  ? 

92,  XXII.  5-9.  Has  this  direct,  emphatic  way  of  putting  things 
any  structural  significance?     {Cf.  Rhetoric^  p.  156,  5,  (3).) 

93,  XXIII .  23.  Compare,  from  the  point  of  view  of  structure, 
"But"  and  the  sentence  which  it  introduces  with  other  paragraphs. 
Note,  also,  the  shortness  of  the  sentence.  —  95,  23.  "The  most 
imaginative  piece,"  etc.  What  would  have  been  the  effect  of  an 
illustration  from  Macaulay?  Would  it  have  held  back  the  reader, 
or  have  aided  him  ? 

96,  XXIV.  16.  Note  how  "  But"  reduces  Macaulay  from  the  first 
rank  as  a  rhetorician,  just  as  the  word  in  the  preceding  paragraph 
(93,  23)  lowered  him  from  the  position  of  an  imaginative  writer  to 
that  of  a  rhetorician. 

97,  XXV.  14-18.  The  form  of  transition  is,  to  a  degree,  typical 
of  the  essay :  the  first  looks  back  to  the  preceding  paragraph ;  the 
second  states  the  topic. 

101,  XXVII.  15.  Between  this  paragraph  and  the  preceding  stood 
in  the  essay,  as  originally  printed  in  the  Forttiightly  Review,  the 
following  paragraph.  Does  it  make  the  connection  of  thought 
clearer  ? 

"With  this  exquisite  modulation  still  delighting  the  ear,  we  open 
Macaulay's  Essays  and  stumble  on  such  sentences  as  this :  '  That 
Tickell  should  have  been  guilty  of  a  villany  seems  to  us  highly 
improbable.  That  Addison  should  have  been  guilty  of  a  villany 
seems  to  us  highly  improbable.  But  that  these  two  men  should 
have  conspired  together  to  commit  a  villany  seems  to  us  improbable 
in  a  tenfold    des^ree.'     *0  fxiapov,  kol  Trajn/iiLapov,  kol   fxiapiaraTavl 


222  Notes 

Surely  this  is  the  very  burlesque  and  travesty  of  a  style.  Yet  it  is  a 
characteristic  passage.  It  would  be  easy  to  find  a  thousand  ex- 
amples of  the  same  vicious  workmanship,  and  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find  a  page  in  which  these  cut  and  disjointed  sentences  are  not 
the  type  and  mode  of  the  prevailing  rhythm." 

101,  19.  What  effect  is  produced  by  the  short  second  sentence 
coming  after  the  long  first  sentence?  (C/".  XXIII.) — 102,9-16. 
Is  the  definition  of  "vulgar"  necessary  in  making  clear  or  emphatic 
the  line  of  thought?     If  so,  why? 

104-,  XXVIII.  20.  Why  is  a  more  explicit  and  less  roundabout 
introduction,  as  in  XXVII.,  unnecessary  here? 

105,  XXIX.  9.  Does  the  last  paragraph  stand  apart  by  itself? 
Would  it  be  clear  without  the  preceding  paragraph  ?  State  specifi- 
cally, as  in  I.,  its  connection  with  the  preceding  line  of  thought. 
Does  it  add  new  ideas,  or  look  at  Macaulay  from  a  new  point  of 
view? 

V.  Summary.  —  The  answers  to  the  preceding  questions  may  be 
summed  up  by  the  answers  to  the  following  more  general  questions  : 

1 .  Can  you  make  any  general  division  of  the  essay  into  introduc- 
tion, body  of  the  work,  and  conclusion?    Indicate  the  divisions. 

2.  In  the  introduction  what  are  the  main  points  brought  out? 
Do  they  bear  directly  on  what  follows?     Are  there  any  digressions? 

3.  Can  you  distinguish  groups  of  thought  in  the  body  .of  the 
essay?  Are  these  groups  clearly  related?  Do  you  notice  any  repe- 
tition of  the  points  made  in  the  introduction?  If  so,  can  you  account 
for  these  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  general  purpose  of  the  essay 
(II.  2)? 

4.  Does  the  conclusion  sum  up  the  essay?  Are  any  new  points 
brought  out  either  directly  or  by  suggestion  ? 

5.  Does  the  paragraph  structure  point  out  anything  in  regard  to 
the  structure  of  the  thought  as  a  whole?  Are  the  paragraphs  closely 
related  or  isolated  ?  Do  you  recognize  prevailing  paragraph  types, 
such,  for  example,  as  the  "  balanced  "  or  "  antithetical "  type  or  the 
so-called  "  deductive  "  or  "  loose  "  type,  which  states  the  main  idea 
first  and  proceeds  to  the  amplification?  Is  the  same  structure 
noticeable,  on  the  one  hand,  in  the  sentences ;  on  the  other,  in  the 
whole  composition? 

VI.  General  Suggestions  for  Study.  —  The  object  of  the  foregoing 
study  is  to  give  a  student  a  better  grip  of  the  kind  of  writing  which 


On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  223 

the  essay  represents,  to  see  how  such  essays  are  made  up,  to  distin- 
guish essentials  from  minor  points.  To  gain  a  wider  knowledge  of 
the  structure  of  essays,  a  student  would  do  well  to  compare  with  Mr. 
Morley's  essay,  Walter  Bagehofs  review  of  the  History  (^Literary 
Studies,  Vol.  II.),  and  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen's  rather  more  philosophi- 
cal essay  on  the  same  author  {Hours  in  a  Library,  Vol.  II.).  A 
more  extended  study  of  structure  of  this  sort,  with  special  reference 
to  the  point  of  view,  can  profitably  be  made  by  comparing  the  essays 
on  Wordsworth  by  Mr.  Morley  {Studies  in  Literature^,  Walter 
Bagehot  {Literary  Studies,  Vol.  II.),  Professor  Edward  Dowden 
{Studies  in  Literature),  Matthew  Arnold  {Essays  in  Criticisjn, 
Second  Series),  Walter  Pater  {Appreciations),  and  Frederick  W. 
Robertson  {I^ectures  atid  Addresses  on  Literary  and  Social  Topics). 
In  all  these,  and  especially  in  the  two  last-named,  the  points  of  view 
are  quite  different  from  one  another,  and  the  audiences,  imaginary 
or  real,  are  entirely  unlike.  For  general  questions  on  the  structure 
of  such  essays,  see  page  241  at  the  end  of  these  notes. 


IV.    ON  THE  STUDY  OF  CELTIC   LITERATURE 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Essay.  —  In  the  selection  from  the  lectures 
On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature,  we  are  dealing,  as  in  the  two 
foregoing  essays,  with  expository  matter.  As  a  whole,  then,  the 
present  selection  may  be  deemed  to  add  nothing  essentially  new  to 
our  knowledge  of  thought-structure ;  like  the  two  former  it  is  merely 
the  presentation  of  ideas.  The  essay,  however,  is  interesting  as 
presenting  several  new  objects  of  study :  its  structure,  while  easy  to 
see  through,  is  rather  more  complicated  than  that  of  the  Macaulay ; 
and  it  is  much  more  conclusive  and  more  firmly  knit  together  than 
that  of  either  of  the  two  preceding ;  it  differs  from  them  not  so 
much  in  any  fundamental  way,  as  in  the  care  with  which  each  step  is 
worked  out.  Hence  it  is  here  introduced  as  an  example  of  another 
variety  of  method. 

II.  Principles  of  Structure.  —  From  what  has  been  said  in  the 
preface  to  the  selection  (p.  107)  it  is  evident  that  Arnold  is  here 
dealing  with  matter  more  or  less  unexplored,  or  often  ill-treated  and 
neglected.  This,  in  fact,  accounts  for  the  elaborateness  of  Arnold's 
treatment,  and  for  his  care  to  make  each  step  clear  as  he  goes  along. 


224  Notes 

In  Personal  Experience  and  Review  Stevenson,  since  he  had  no 
point  to  prove,  was  merely  giving,  in  a  rather  disconnected  way,  the 
result  of  his  observations ;  and  in  Macaiday,  Mr.  Morley  attempted 
to  present  one  line  of  thought  on  a  well-known  subject.  Neither 
essay,  then,  had  need  of  the  great  elaborateness  which  came  to 
Arnold's  essay,  partly  by  the  nature  of  the  subject,  and  partly  also 
from  Arnold's  habit  of  mind.  In  the  second  place,  it  should  be 
noted  that  the  present  lectures  did  not  have  to  be  compressed 
into  the  narrow  limits  of  a  magazine  article,  —  they  were  first 
printed  in  serial  form,  —  but  could  be  much  more  thoroughly  de- 
veloped. Again,  the  lectures  were  primarily  intended  to  be  heard, 
not  read ;  hence  they  had,  on  the  whole,  to  be  more  clearly  and 
carefully  elaborated,  and  they  were  perhaps  often  carried  out  to  too 
great  length.  So  we  shall  find  in  the  selection  (i)  greater  com- 
pleteness in  the  method,  (2)  greater  fairness  in  the  presentation  of 
the  material,  and  (3)  a  greater  degree  of  rounding  out  of  the  struct- 
ure and  of  clearness  in  the  style,  than  in  the  preceding  essay.  Our 
problem  is  to  see  how  Arnold  has  gone  to  work  to  make  his  essay, 
and  to  look  into  the  details  of  structure. 

III.  Structure  of  the  Whole  Essay.  —  Before  working  out  this 
problem  in  detail,  we  shall  do  well  to  glance  at  the  structure  of  the 
whole  essay.  This,  which  has  been  roughly  indicated  in  the  pref- 
atory note  (p.  107)  and  in  the  summing-up  (p.  132),  lends  itself 
most  readily  to  the  following  treatment : 


[Specific  introduction.]  An  account 
of  the  ceremonies  at  the  yearly  Cel- 
tic festival  in  Wales  (I.-IV.).  This 
showed r. 


The  ineffectiveness  of  these  cere- 
monies in  that  they  attempted  to  re- 
vive Celtic  customs  and  treated  the 
whole  subject  much  too  sentimentally 
(V.-VL). 

Their  value  in  hinting  at  the  right 
place  of  Celtic  influence  on  English 
(VII.),  an  inquiiy  which  must  be 
made  on  purely  scientific  grounds 
(VIII.-X.). 


On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature 


225 


[Section  I.]  The  ground  for  this  [ 
inquiry  is  furnished  in  the  enormous 
mass  of  Celtic  literature,  in  manu- 
scripts and  anthologies  (I.-III.)- 
This  material  has  heretofore  been 
neglected  because  of 


The  Celt-lovers  who  have  inter- 
preted it  absurdly  (IV.  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter) . 


And  of  the  destructive  criticisms  of 
Celt-haters  (IV.  to  the  end). 


I 
[Section  II.]  But  the  conclusions 
of  these  anti-Celts  are  merely  nega- 
tive (I.).  They  do  not  vitally  affect 
the  Celtic  question  (I I. -IV.).  This 
is  made  clear  by  an  examination  of^ 


The  testimony  of  the  Romans  (V., 
VI.)  to  the  Celtic  wisdom  and  dis- 
cipline. 

The  Welsh  tradition  of  the  sixth 
century,  and  the  manuscripts  of  the 
twelfth,  which  testify  to  the  existence 
of  a  primitive  literature  (VII.). 

The  documents  which  reveal  the 
antiquity  of  the  ideas  (VIII.,  IX.). 

The  mythology  (X.-XXI.),  which 
shows  the  Celt-haters  to  be  quite  in 
the  wrong. 

The  philology,  which  enables  us 
scientifically  to  place  these  Celtic 
fragments,  and  definitely  to  establish 
the  existence  of  a  literature  (XXII.- 
XXV.). 


I 

Philology  further  shows  that  there 
exists  a  general  racial  connection  be- 
tween the  Celtic  and  th3  Teutonic 
peoples  (XXVI.-XXIX.). 

I 

[Section  III.i]  And  though  philol- 
ogy proves  nothing  minutely  definite 
with  regard  to  the  relations  of  the  Celt 
to  the  Saxon,  it  at  least  suggests  a  line 
of  scientific  inquiry  which  may  throw 
some  light  on  the  question  of  relation 
(I.,  II.).    Th«  tests  are 


Philological,  which  at  least  shows 
that  there  is  no  evidence  for  the 
assumption  that  there  exists  no  Celtic 
element  in  English  (III.)- 

Physiological,  which,  though  in- 
completely applied,  may  lead  one  to 
hesitate  in  the   assertion   that   there 


1  The  first  six  paragraphs  of  the  selection  in  the  text,  pp.  108-116. 
Q 


226 


Notes 


exists  no  Celtic  element  in  English 
(IV.-VL). 

The  spiritual  test  (VI.  ff.) . 


[Section  IV.]  The  spiritual  test  ne-  * 

cessitates  a  discussion  of  the  genius  of 

the  nations  which  may  possibly  have 

to  do  with  the  question  (I.  and  X.i). 

The  German  genius  —  steadiness  with  honesty  (I.), 

The  Celtic  genius  —  sentiment  (II. -VII.). 

The  Norman  genius  —  decisiveness  (VIII.-IX.). 


These  are- 


r 


The  problem  is  the  tracing  of  these 
elements  in  the  composite  English 
genius  (X.). 


[Section    V.]     Now    the    English 
show 


>  VII.-XVI.  of  the  text  as  numbered. 
the  intervening  paragraphs. 


A  marked  capacity  among  Ger- 
manic nations  for  rhetoric.  This  is 
due  to  the  influence  of  the  Normans, 
who  inherited  the  power  from  the 
Romans  (I.). 

In  painting  and  sculpture  the  Eng- 
lish stand  between  the  Celts,  who  had 
no  capacity  for  these  arts,  and  the 
Germans,  who  have  shown  large 
capacity  for  them  (II.).. 

In  the  same  way  the  Germanic 
strain  in  the  religion  of  the  English 
is  modified,  probably  by  Celtfc  in- 
fluence (III.). 

In  the  two  foregoing  cases 
there    may    be    some    doubt 
whence  the  influence  comes, 
but    indications  point  to    its 
Celtic  origin  (IV.-XVII.,  in- 
cluding quotation). 
The  Celtic  mixture  is  more  clearly 
shown  in  the  carriage  and  manner  of 
the  English  (XVIII.). 
Corresponding  changes  have  been  made  in 


On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  227 


Most  clearly  is  the  Celtic  influence 
to  be  seen  in  English  poetry  (XIX.). 


[Section  VI.]   From  a  Celtic  source   (        (i)   Style,    which     the    Germans 


English  poetry  gets  (i)  probably  much 
of  its  turn  for  style,  (2)  much  of  its 
melancholy,  and  (3)  nearly  all  its 
natural  magic  (I.) 


have  not  (I I. -IV.),  which  the  Celts 
have  (V.-VIII.),  and  which  in  all 
probability  could  not  have  come  from 
a  Norman  source  (IX.). 

(2)  Melancholy  and  passion, 
which  are  very  strong  in  Celtic  poetry 
(X.-XIII.). 

(3)  Natural  magic,  which  among 
older  literatures  is  exclusively  the  prop- 

[   ertyoftheCeltic(XIV.-XXIII.). 


[Conclusion,  Section  VI.]  It  is  this  mixture  of  elements,  and  particularly 
the  presence  of  the  Celtic  element,  which,  unrecognized  and  untrained,  may 
prove  fatal  to  the  nation,  but,  properly  mastered  and  built  up,  may  lead  to  a 
settlement  of  literary,  political,  and  social  problems  (XXIV.-XXVIII.). 

The  foregoing  general  analysis  of  the  essay  as  a  whole  will 
show  how,  from  the  point  of  view  of  structure,  its  conclusiveness  is 
brought  about.  There  are  four  processes  to  the  structure  :  (i)  the 
bringing  in  of  new  material ;  (2)  the  examination  of  that  material 
from  as  many  points  of  view  as  may  be  necessary ;  (3)  the  exclu- 
sion of  those  results  which  are  not  significant ;  and  (4)  the  testing 
of  the  chosen  result  from  a  new  point  of  view  or  the  applying  of 
new  material  to  it  in  order  to  refine  it  still  further. 

IV.  Questions  on  the  Details  of  Structure.  —  Our  task  does  by  no 
means  end  with  this  general  outline ;  we  have  still  to  examine  the 
details  of  structure.  In  this  examination  we  shall  have  to  look 
for  several  things  which  have  not  appeared  in  the  preceding  essays, 
and  to  these  our  attention  may  be  confined. 

108,  I.  I,  2.  The  sentence  should  be  looked  at  as  an  example  of 
the  directness  with  which  Arnold  sums  up  his  results  before  going 
on  to  new  positions.  The  three  following  sentences  complete  the 
opening  sentence  by  showing  just  what  is  the  importance  on  the 
problem  at  issue  of  the  question  of  general  race  affinity.  The  fifth 
sentence  states  the  real  point  at  issue :  namely,  the  determining  the 
influence  of  one  nation  on  another  after  "  the  embryo  has  grown 


228  Notes 

and  solidified  into  a  distinct  nation."  The  sixth  sentence  shows 
that  mutual  influence  under  these  conditions  is  not  known  between 
the  German  of  history  and  the  Celt  of  history.  The  seventh  attempts 
to  demonstrate  that  some  contact  did  exist  on  English  soil.  The 
eighth,  from  this,  assumes  the  possibility  of  influence  of  Celt 
upon  Saxon  in  England.  The  ninth  and  tenth  state,  by  two 
examples,  a  prevalent  view  that  such  intercourse  did,  however,  not 
exist ;  and  that  this  is  a  position  to  be  looked  into. 

The  paragraph  as  a  study  in  progression  should  be  compared 
with  the  following  from  Culttire  and  Anarchy  : 

"  If  culture,  then,  is  a  study  of  perfection,  and  of  harmonious 
perfection,  general  perfection,  and  perfection  which  consists  in 
becoming  something  rather  than  "in  having  something,  in  an  inward 
condition  of  the  mind  and  spirit,  not  in  an  outward  set  of  circum- 
stances [summing  up  of  the  positions  of  the  preceding  nine  para- 
graphs (cf.  Froude  14,  1-7.)],  —  it  is  clear  that  culture,  instead  of 
being  the  frivolous  and  useless  thing  which  Mr.  Bright,  and  Mr. 
Frederic  Harrison,  and  many  other  Liberals  are  apt  to  call  it  [sum- 
ming up  of  the  attacks  upon  culture  of  the  preceding  nine  para- 
graphs] ,  has  a  very  important  function  to  fulfil  for  mankind  [topic 
sentence].  And  this  function  is  particularly  important  in  our 
modern  world  [first  limitation  of  the  topic],  of  which  the  whole 
civilisation  is,  to  a  much  greater  degree  than  the  civilisation  of 
Greece  and  Rome,  mechanical  and  external,  and  tends  constantly 
to  become  more  so  [reasons  for  the  particular  importance  of  culture 
in  our  modern  world].  But  above  all  in  our  own  country  has  culture 
a  weighty  part  to  perform  [second  limitation  of  the  topic],  because 
here  that  mechanical  character,  which  civilisation  tends  to  take 
everywhere  [repetition  of  the  reason  of  sentence  i],  is  shown  in 
the  most  eminent  degree  [reason  for  the  importance  of  culture  to 
England] .  Indeed  nearly  all  the  characters  of  perfection,  as  culture 
teaches  us  to  fix  them  [repetition  of  the  opening  sentence],  meet 
in  this  country  with  some  powerful  tendency  which  thwarts  them 
and  sets  them  at  defiance  [strengthening  of  the  reasons  for  foster- 
ing culture].  The  idea  of  perfection  as  an  inward  condition  of 
the  mind  and  spirit  is  at  variance  with  the  mechanical  and  material 
civilisation  in  esteem  with  us,  and  nowhere,  as  I  have  said,  so  much 
in  esteem  as  with  us  [explication  of  the  topic-sentence  by  singling 
out  one  of  the  attributes  of  culture   and  opposing  it  to  a  chief 


On  the  Study  of  Celtic  LiteratiL^^e  229 

characteristic  of  English  civilisation].  The  idea  of  perfection  as 
a  general  expansion  of  the  human  family  is  at  variance  with  our 
strong  individualism,  our  hatred  of  all  limits  to  the  unrestrained 
swing  of  the  individuaPs  personality,  our  maxim  of  '  every  man  for 
himself  [further  explication  of  the  topic-sentence  by  singling  out 
a  second  of  the  attributes  of  culture  and  opposing  it  to  certain 
characteristics  of  English  civilisation] .  Above  all,  the  idea  of  per- 
fection as  a  harmo7iious  expansion  of  human  nature  is  at  variance 
with  our  want  of  flexibility,  with  our  inaptitude  for  seeing  more  than 
one  side  of  a  thing,  with  our  intense  energetic  absorption  in  the  par- 
ticular pursuit  we  happen  to  be  following  [third  explication  of  the 
topic-sentence  by  singling  out  one,  of  the  attributes  of  culture  —  as 
stated  the  most  important  —  and  opposing  it  to  other  chief  charac- 
teristics of  English  civilisation].  So  culture  has  a  rough  task  to 
achieve  in  this  country  [summary  and  introduction  to  the  final 
topics].  Its  preachers  have,  and  are  likely  long  to  have,  a  hard 
time  of  it,  and  they  will  much  oftener  be  regarded,  for  a  great  while 
to  come,  as  elegant  or  spurious  Jeremiahs  than  as  friends  and  bene- 
factors [statement  of  the  difficulties  which  culture  will  have  to 
encounter  —  used  as  an  introduction  to  the  closing  sentences]. 
That,  however,  will  not  prevent  their  doing  in  the  end  good  ser- 
vice if  they  persevere  [structurally  an  introduction,  by  antithesis,  to 
the  closing  sentence].  And,  meanwhile,  the  mode  of  action  they 
have  to  pursue,  and  the  sort  of  habits  they  must  fight  against, 
ought  to  be  made  quite  clear  for  everyone  to  see,  who  may  be  will- 
ing to  look  at  the  matter  attentively  and  dispassionately  [intro- 
duction to  a  specific  account  of  the  '  habits  they  must  fight 
against']."  —  Sweetness  and  Lights  paragraph  X. 

Do  you  note  in  the  essay  other  examples  of  this  sort  of  para- 
graph structure.?  In  general,  how  do  such  paragraphs  affect  the 
structure  of  the  essay,  by  making  it  clearer  or  bringing  its  parts 
more  firmly  together?  — 108,,  14-20.  The  repetition  of  clauses  and 
the  balance  of  the  sentence  should  be  noted.  Does  this  structure 
seem  to  have  value  in  helping  on  the  progression  of  thought }  Do  you 
note,  in  the  remaining  paragraphs,  other  cases  of  the  same  method? 

110,  II.  I.  How  is  this  paragraph  related  to  the  preceding? 
What  is  its  function  ?  {Cf.  Macaiday,  VI.)  Is  its  length,  compared 
with  that  of  the  other  paragraphs,  significant?  In  other  words, 
should  the  paragraph  be  emphatic  and  very  definite? 


230  Notes 

110,  III.  16-22.  Analyze  the  sentence  to  discover  (i)  the 
amount  of  exact  or  so-called  "  explicit  reference  "  by  words  to  the 
preceding  paragraph,  (2)  the  limitations  which  it  imposes  upon 
the  author,  and  its  exact  connection  with  the  following  sentences. 
How  about  the  emphasis?  — 112,  17-20.  What  is  the  bearing  of  the 
last  member  of  the  sentence  on  I.  and  II.?  Compare  the  opening 
of  the  next  paragraph  for  the  same  object. 

113,  IV.  25,  26.  What  gain  or  loss  to  the  firmness  of  structure 
do  you  see  in  this  reference  to  the  closing  sentences  of  para- 
graph I.? 

115,  VI.  2.  Note  the  tentativeness  of  the  conclusion,  ''may  lead 
us  to  hesitate  before  accepting  the  round  assertion  that  it  is  vain  to 
search  for  Celtic  elements  in  any  modern  Englishman."  How 
many  times  has  that  idea  been  expressed,  or  at  least  strongly  im- 
plied, in  the  preceding  five  paragraphs,  as,  for  example,  in  II.?  — 
115,  5.  Would  the  omission  of  the  words  "of  physiology  and  lan- 
guage," have  weakened  the  structure  of  the  paragraph  as  regards 
clearness?  — 115,  6.  What  is  the  twofold  value  of  the  comparison 
beginning  "As  there  are  .  .  .  "?  — 116,  5,  6.  Note  again  the  repe- 
tition of  this  idea. 

117,  VII.  12-28.  Does  the  long  last  sentence  seem  to  do  more 
than  repeat  the  two  preceding?  Does  it  digress  merely,  or  really 
add  something  necessary  to  make  the  idea  clearer? 

118,  VIII.  1-7.  What  is  the  function  of  the  opening  sentence,  in- 
cluding the  quotation  ?  The  second  sentence  obviously  looks  back 
to  the  last  paragraph.  — 118,  13  — 119,  8.  What  is  the  point  of 
the  group  of  sentences?  Do  they  render  the  word  "sentiment" 
clearer?  What,  then,  is  the  use  of  the  rest  of  the  paragraph? 
{Cf.  VII.)  Explain  the  paragraph  in  detail.  — 120,  20.  The  sum- 
ming up  of  the  paragraph  in  a  word,  "sentimental,"  should  be 
noted.  Since  the  word  has  been  carefully  established,  it  furnishes 
the  pivot  on  which  the  following  five  paragraphs  revolve. 

120,  IX.  21.  "Sentimental."  Note  the  emphatic  definition  of 
the  word  as  a  prelude  to  the  examination  of  the  corresponding  trait 
in  the  Celts.  From  what  point  of  view,  then,  does  this  paragraph 
test  the  sentimentality  of  the  Celt?  — 121,  2-6.  What,  specifically, 
is  the  object  of  the  sentence  in  clearing  up  the  structure  or  estab- 
lishing a  point  of  view? — 121,  26.  What  is  the  value  of  the 
sentence  ? 


07t  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  231 

123,  X.  6.  From  what  point  of  view  does  the  paragraph  take 
up  the  word  "sentimental"?  How  many  paragraphs  does  the 
sentence  (6-9)  introduce?  — 123,29.  Note  the  repetition  of  the  text 
"creeping  Saxon." 

124,  XI.  10.  What  can  you  say  about  the  point  of  view  of  this 
paragraph  ?  Do  you  note  any  change  in  tone  or  degree  of  elabora- 
tion?    (^Cf.  II.  and  Macaiilay,  XXVIII.) 

124,  XII.  21.  What  further  change  in  the  way  of  looking  at  the 
Celt  do  you  observe  in  this  paragraph?  What  place  does  the  fre- 
quent repetition  of  the  word  "  sensibility  "  play  in  this  change  and 
in  the  paragraph  structure? 

127,  XIII.  8.  How  is  the  paragraph  related  in  thought  to  the 
preceding?  Is  that  relation  clearly  indicated  by  the  wording? 
What  new  idea  is  brought  out?  In  general,  have  you  noticed  in 
the  group  of  five  paragraphs  dealing  with  the  Celtic  genius,  any 
ideas  or  illustrations  which  seem  to  furnish  texts  for  further  devel- 
opment and  illustration  in  Chapter  VI.  as  outlined  on  page  227? 

This  method  of  structure  by  the  reiteration  of  catchwords  may  be 
made  clearer  by  one  or  two  illustrations  from  other  of  Arnold's 
works.     Compare  the  following  from  Culture  and  Anarchy : 

"...  Culture  is  then  properly  described  not  as  having  its  origin 
in  curiosity,  but  as  having  its  origin  in  the  love  of  perfection  ;  it  is  ^z 
study  of  perfection  [Pivotal  phrase,  so  to  speak,  like  "sentimental"] . 
It  moves  by  the  force,  not  merely  or  primarily  of  the  scientific  pas- 
sion for  pure  knowledge,  but  also  of  the  moral  and  social  passion  for 
doing  good.  As.  in  the  first  view  of  it,  we  took  for  its  worthy  motto 
Montesquieu's  words :  '■  To  render  an  intelligent  being  yet  more 
intelligent ! '  so,  in  the  second  view  of  it,  there  is  no  better  motto 
which  it  can  have  than  these  words  of  Bishop  Wilson :  '■  To  make 
reason  and  the  will  of  God  prevail  [Text]  ! ' 

"  Only,  whereas  the  passion  for  doing  good  is  apt  to  be  overhasty 
in  determining  what  reason  and  the  will  of  God  [Text]  say,  because 
its  turn  is  for  acting  rather  than  thinking  and  it  wants  to  be  begin- 
ning to  act ;  and  whereas  it  is  apt  to  take  its  own  conceptions,  which 
proceed  from  its  own  state  of  development  and  share  in  all  the 
imperfections  and  immaturities  of  this,  for  a  basis  of  action ;  what 
distinguishes  culture  is,  that  it  is  possessed  by  the  scientific  passion 
as  well  as  by  the  passion  for  doing  good ;  that  it  demands  worthy 
notions  of  reason  and  the  will  of  God  [Text],  and  does  not  readily 


232  Notes 

suffer  its  own  crude  conceptions  to  substitute  themselves  for  them. 
And  knowing  that  no  action  or  institution  can  be  salutary  and 
stable  which  is  not  based  on  reason  and  the  will  of  God  [Text],  it 
is  not  so  bent  on  acting  and  instituting,  even  with  the  great  aim  of 
diminishing  human  error  and  misery  ever  befgre  its  thoughts,  but 
that  it  can  remember  that  acting  and  instituting  are  of  little  use, 
unless  we  know  how  and  what  we  ought  to  act  and  to  institute. 

"  This  culture  is  more  interesting  and  more  far-reaching  than  that 
other,  which  is  founded  solely  on  the  scientific  passion  for  knowing. 
But  it  needs  times  of  faith  and  ardour,  times  when  the  intellectual 
horizon  is  opening  and  widening  all  round  us,  to  flourish  in.  And 
is  not  the  close  and  bounded  intellectual  horizon  within  which  we 
have  long  lived  and  moved  now  lifting  up,  and  are  not  new  lights 
finding  free  passage  to  shine  in  upon  us?  For  a  long  time  there 
was  no  passage  for  them  to  make  their  way  in  upon  us,  and  then  it 
was  of  no  use  .to  think  of  adapting  the  world's  action  to  them. 
Where  was  the  hope  of  making  reason  and  the  will  of  God  prevail 
[Text]  among  people  who  had  a  routine  which  they  had  christened 
reason  and  the  will  of  God  [Text],  in  which  they  were  inextricably 
bound,  and  beyond  which  they  had  no  power  of  looking?  But  now 
the  iron  force  of  adhesion  to  the  old  routine,  —  social,  political, 
religious,  —  has  wonderfully  yielded ;  the  iron  force  of  exclusion 
of  all  which  is  new  has  wonderfully  yielded.  The  danger  now  is 
not  that  people  should  obstinately  refuse  to  allow  anything  but  their 
old  routine  to  pass  for  reason  and  the  will  of  God  [Text],  but  either 
that  they  should  allow  some  novelty  or  other  to  pass  for  these  too 
easily,  or  else  that  they  should  underrate  the  importance  of  them 
altogether,  and  think  it  enough  to  follow  action  for  its  own  sake, 
without  troubling  themselves  to  make  reason  and  the  will  of  God 
prevail  [Text]  therein.  Now,  then,  is  the  moment  for  culture  to  be 
of  service,  culture  which  believes  in  making  reason  and  the  will  of 
God  prevail  [Text],  believes  in  perfection,  is  a  study  and  pursuit  of 
perfection  [Pivotal  phrase],  and  is  no  longer  debarred,  by  a  rigid 
invincible  study  of  whatever  is  new,  from  getting  acceptance  for  its 
ideas,  simply  because  they  are  new. 

"  The  moment  this  view  of  culture  is  seized,  the  moment  it  is 
regarded  not  solely  as  the  endeavour  to  see  things  as  they  are,  to 
draw  towards  a  knowledge  of  the  universal  order  which  seems  to  be 
intended  and  aimed  at  in  the  world,  and  which  it  is  a  man's  happi- 


On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  233 

ness  to  go  along  with  or  his  misery  to  go  counter  to,  —  to  learn,  in 
short,  the  will  of  God  [Text],  —  the  moment,  I  say,  culture  is  con- 
sidered not  merely  as  the  endeavour  to  see  and  learn  this,  but  as  the 
endeavour,  also,  to  make  it  prevail  [Text],  the  moral,  social,  and 
beneficent  character  of  culture  becomes  manifest.  The  mere  en- 
deavour to  see  and  learn  the  truth  for  our  own  personal  satisfaction 
is  indeed  a  commencement  for  making  it  prevail  [Text],  a  preparing 
the  way  for  this,  which  always  serves  this,  and  is  wrongly,  therefore, 
stamped  with  blame  absolutely  in  itself  and  not  only  in  its  caricature 
and  degeneration.  But  perhaps  it  has  got  stamped  with  blame,  and 
disparaged  with  the  dubious  title  of  curiosity,  because  in  comparison 
with  this  wider  endeavour  of  such  great  and  plain  utility  it  looks 
selfish,  petty,  and  unprofitable."  —  Sweetness  and  Light,  paragraphs 
III.-VI. 

Compare,  also,  from  On  Translating  Homer  : 

"  Homer  is  rapid  in  his  movement,  Homer  is  plain  in  his  words 
and  style,  Homer  is  simple  in  his  ideas.  Homer  is  noble  in  his 
manner.  Cowper  renders  him  ill  because  he  is  slow  in  his  move- 
ment, and  elaborate  in  his  style ;  Pope  renders  him  ill  because  he 
is  artificial  both  in  his  style  and  in  his  words ;  Chapman  renders 
him  ill  because  he  is  fantastic  in  his  ideas ;  Mr.  Newman  renders 
him  ill  because  he  is  odd  in  his  words  and  ignoble  in  his  manner. 
All  four  translators  diverge  from  their  original  at  other  points  besides 
those  named ;  but  it  is  at  the  points  thus  named  that  their  diver- 
gence is  greatest.  For  instance,  Cowper's  diction  is  not  as  Homer's 
diction,  nor  his  nobleness  as  Homer's  nobleness ;  but  it  is  in  move- 
ment and  grammatical  style  that  he  is  most  unlike  Homer.  Pope's 
rapidity  is  not  of  the  same  sort  as  Homer's  rapidity,  nor  are  his 
plainness  of  ideas  and  his  nobleness  as  Homer's  plainness  of  ideas 
and  nobleness ;  but  it  is  in  the  artificial  character  of  his  style  and 
diction  that  he  is  most  unlike  Homer.  Chapman's  movement,  words, 
style,  and  manner,  are  often  far  enough  from  resembling  Homer's 
movement,  words,  style,  and  manner ;  but  it  is  the  fantasticality  of 
his  ideas  which  puts  him  farthest  from  resembling  Homer.  Mr. 
Newman's  movement,  grammatical  style,  and  ideas,  are  a  thousand 
times  in  strong  contrast  with  Homer's ;  still  it  is  by  the  oddness  of 
his  diction  and  the  ignobleness  of  his  manner  that  he  contrasts 
with  Homer  the  most  violently."  —  Section  III.,  paragraph  I. 

128,  XIV.  12.    Notice  that  the  summing  up  of  the  discussion  by 


234  Notes 

the  opening  sentence  is  very  tentative :  the  commingling  of  the 
races  is  still  hypothetical. — 128,  15.  Can  you  see  any  reason,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  structure,  for  the  excursus  on  the  Norman 
genius  ?  — 128,  19.  What  is  the  value  to  the  structure  of  the  reference 
to  the  "critic  of  \ht  Saturday  Review ''"'1  {Cf.  I.)  Have  you  any 
doubt  as  to  the  bearing  of  the  paragraph?     What  is  the  main  idea? 

130,  XV.  16.    What  does  the  paragraph  add  to  the  preceding 
(i)  in  idea  and  (2)  in  point  of  view? 

131,  XVi.  16.   Note  how  the  topic  of  the  first  sentence  is  de- 
veloped in  the  following  sentences.     Thus  : 


Sentence  i.     I  have  got  what  I  went  to  seek. 


Sentence  2.    I  have  got  a  notion  of  the  three  kinds  of  genius. 


Sentences  3,  4,  5.    Of  the  Germanic,        Of  the  Celtic,        Of  the  Norman, 
which  is  .  .  .  which  is  .  .  .        which  is  .  .  . 

Sentence  6.    These  three  are  manifested  in  the  composite  English  genius. 

The  structure  is  obviously  very  clear;  but  does  it  also  clearly 
sum  up  the  preceding  nine  paragraphs?  Have  you  noticed  a 
similarly  exact  structure  in  other  paragraphs?  Compare,  also,  the 
closing  paragraph  oi  Macaulay  (p.  105)  and  What  is  a  University? 
I.  (p.  172)  and  XI.  (p.  184). — 131,30.  Does  the  word  "  composite  " 
seem  to  you  to  be  warranted?  In  other  words,  does  it  not  assume 
the  point  at  issue?     (C/.  128,  XIV.  12.) 

V.  Summary.  —  The  results  of  this  investigation  may  be  summed 
up  by  specific  answers  to  the  following  questions  : 

1.  In  the  selection  as  printed,  what  is  the  point  at  issue? 

2.  From  how  many  and  what  points  of  view  is  it  looked  at? 

3.  What  methods  are  employed  in  getting  at  the  main  point  and 
keeping  it  clear  of  the  minor  points  ? 

4.  Do  you  notice,  as  in  Macaulay,  any  prevailing  method  of 
development  in  the  paragraphs? 

5.  Are  the  paragraphs  similar  in  structure  to  the  whole  selec- 
tion? 

6.  What  is  your  opinion  with  regard  to  the  clearness  of  the 
whole?     By  what  method  is  this  quality  obtained? 

VI.  General  Suggestions. — Arnold's  work  furnishes  many  excel- 
lent examples  of  the  sore  of  structure  which  we  have  been  consider- 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy  235 

ing.  Among  the  shorter  essays  are  notable  The  Study  of  Poetry 
(^Essays  in  Criticism,  Second  Series),  and  The  Function  of  Criti- 
cism at  the  Present  Time  {Essays  in  Criticism,  First  Series)  ;  of 
the  larger  works  are  to  be  cited  Literature  and  Dogma,  On  Trans- 
lating Homer,  and  especially  Culture  and  Anarchy,  of  which  Chap- 
ter I.,  Sweetness  and  Light,  should  be  examined  as  an  example  of 
an  essay  built  up  around  two  or  three  texts  and  moved  forward 
by  the  repetition  of  these  catchwords.  These  essays  are  all  ex- 
cellent examples  of  exposition  so  presented  as  to  have  the  force  of 
argument ;  and  in  this  connection  it  is  well  for  a  student  to  examine, 
as  examples  of  the  same  convincing  exposition,  the  late  Professor 
T.  H.  Huxley's  On  a  Piece  of  Chalk  {Disco2irses  Biological  and 
Geological),  On  the  Formation  of  Coal  {Ibid.),  and  especially  the 
famous  lectures  on  Evolution  {American  Addresses').  Newman's 
The  Idea  of  a  University  is  also  admirable  for  this  purpose.  In 
these  essays  the  topics,  of  course,  are  not  pursued  with  an  equal 
degree  of  elaborateness  or  written  in  the  same  style. 


V.  THE  STRENGTH  OF  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

I.  Object  of  the  Chapter.  —  Like  the  essay  On  the  Study  of  Celtic 
Literature,  the  present  selection  deals  with  large  issues  and  attempts 
to  present  these  in  a  complete  and  convincing  form ;  and,  as  such, 
it  is  an  example  of  more  highly  wrought  structure  than  the  first 
three.  It  differs  from  Arnold's  structure,  principally  in  that  it  does 
not  enter  into  the  process  step  by  step  and  thus  reach  the  conclu- 
sion, but  states  the  conclusion  first,  and  to  this  adds  the  reasons. 
Since  these  results  are  plainly  categorized,  the  chapter  appears  very 
simple  in  structure ;  but  in  reality,  as  a  matter  of  composition,  it  is 
difficult.  This  difficulty  rests  in  the  attainment  of  the  complete 
view  which  the  author  must  take  of  his  subject,  and  in  the  pene- 
trating analysis  which  his  purpose  necessitates. 

II.  Principles  of  Structure.  —  The  chapter,  it  will  be  noted, 
attempts  to  give  this  complete  view  of  the  subject  in  a  necessarily 
limited  space.  The  completeness  of  the  view  naturally  excludes 
any  such  methods  as  were  used  in  the  first  three  selections,  —  such 
methods  as  Stevenson's,  especially,  and  Mr.  Morley's  would  have  been 
totally  inadequate,  and  Froude's  narrative  method  would  have  been 


236  Notes 

out  of  place,  —  and  the  lack  of  space  forbids  any  such  explicit 
treatment  as  Arnold's.  What  Mr.  Bryce,  then,  has  done  is  (i)  to 
classify  the  results  of  his  reading,  information,  and  observation 
under  such  general  heads  as  seem  to  cover  the  ground ;  (2)  to 
deduce,  from  each  of  these  masses  of  facts,  a  general  principle  of 
strength  in  American  democracy;  (3)  to  expound  each  principle 
until  it  becomes  clear ;  (4)  to  select  some  of  the  material  for  illus- 
tration of  each  general  principle ;  and  (5),  when  necessary,  to  test 
his  results  from  more  than  one  point  of  view. 

III.  Structure  of  the  Chapter. — The  structure,  as  a  whole,  pre- 
sents no  difficulty.  The  method  is  the  arrangement  of  the  material 
in  one-two-three  order,  with  the  subject  clearly  stated  in  the  opening 
sentence;  and  hence  no  plan  is  necessary.  The  student  should, 
however,  keep  in  mind  the  seven  heads  {cf.  introductory  note  to 
the  chapter,  p.  133)  which  Mr.  Bryce  uses. 

IV.  Questions  on  the  Structure.  —  Besides  the  clearness  of  outline 
of  the  essay  as  a  whole,  the  clearness  of  structure  in  each  paragraph 
should  be  noted.  Without  taking  pains  to  articulate  the  sentences, 
Mr.  Bryce  is  clear  and  coherent  in  details,  because  one  idea  grows 
out  of  another,  and  because  the  groups  are  kept  distinct  by  careful 
marking.  These  qualities  may  be  more  definitely  brought  out  by 
the  following  questions : 

133,  I.  I.  Note  the  exact  statement  of  purpose  in  the  paragraph. 
Compare  the  opening  of  Macaulay's //zj/^ry :  "I  purpose  to  write 
the  history  of  England  from  the  accession  of  King  James  the  Second 
down  to  a  time  which  is  within  the  memory  of  men  still  living." 

133,  II.  6.  Note  how,  in  this  and  in  the  succeeding  paragraphs, 
the  subject  is  distinctly  stated  at  the  outset. — 134,  6-13.  Do  you 
see  how  the  example  of  European  instability  helps  the  coherence 
and  emphasis  of  the  main  idea  of  the  paragraph  ? 

134,  III.  23.  "The  best  proof."  Note  that  the  paragraph  deals 
with  illustrations.  Each  {cf.  line  26)  is  introduced  with  such  words 
as  make  its  bearing  clear.  {Cf.,  for  further  examples,  ^-^-?/^r/^,  pp. 
159  and  162,  163.)  — 135,  11-25.  Note  how,  in  the  group  of  three 
sentences,  the  specific  illustration  is  introduced  by  a  general  state- 
ment.    Do  you  call  to  mind  other  examples  of  the  same  sort? 

135,  IV.  26.  In  the  paragraph  can  you  mark  off  any  general 
change  from  a  statement  of  impression  to  illustrations,  such  as  has 
been  already  noted?  — 136,  14-18.  What  is  the  value  of  the  sen- 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy         237 

tence?  Do  the  ideas  become  clearer  through  the  opposition?  {Cf. 
138,  23-25  of  the  same  essay,  2ca.^Macaulayy  68,  12-14.)  —  ^^^j  n- 
Should  not  the  paragraph  have  been  broken  at  this  point?  Com- 
pare II.  and  III.  In  general,  what  should  you  say  about  the  con- 
nectives in  the  paragraph,  their  number,  and  the  closeness  with 
which  they  bind  together  the  sentences?  — 138,  16.  Does  this  clos- 
ing sentence  rightly  emphasize  the  paragraph,  that  is,  does  it  sum 
up  the  paragraph  as  a  whole?     (C/".  Rhetoric,  p.  156,  5,  2.) 

138,  V.  18.  Examine  the  following  group  of  paragraphs  (V.,  VI., 
and  VII.)  to  see  whether  each  member  of  the  group  is  made  on 
the  same  plan  as  IV. ;  that  is,  an  exposition  of  the  subject  of  the 
sentence  followed  by  illustration  of  the  chief  idea.  Can  you  say 
that  there  is  a  paragraph  type?  — 139,  9.  Note  the  strong  emphasis 
of  the  sentence.  Does  it  throw  you  off  the  track  in  regard  to  the 
remainder  of  the  paragraph?     (C/".  137,  11.) 

143,  VIII.  16.  Does  the  interpolated  paragraph  throw  any  light 
on  Mr.  Bryce's  method  of  using  his  facts  or  on  the  spirit  in  which 
he  gives  the  results  of  his  observation? 

144,  IX.  9.  Trace  the  connection  between  this  paragraph  and" 
VII.  as  indicated  in  the  opening  sentence.  What  gain  to  the  fulness 
of  treatment  or  to  the  weightiness  of  the  opinion  comes  from  this 
examination  of  the  question  from  a  new  point  of  view?  — 144,  18. 
How  about  the  "balanced"  structure  of  the  paragraph  as  indicated 
by  the  sentence,  "The  answer  to  the  first  objection  .  .  ."  (C/". 
Rhetoric^  p.  160.) 

145,  X.  16.  How  does  the  paragraph  complete  IX.  in  idea  and 
in  form?  How  is  it  related  to  VII.?  In  general,  do  you  see  any 
reason  why  Mr.  Bryce  should  treat  this  topic  of  his  chapter  —  the 
lack  of  class  distinction  —  with  greater  fulness  than  the  rest  ?  Is  it 
that  Americans  are  prouder  of  their  alleged  equality,  or  that  on  this 
point  there  is  greater  uncertainty  ? 

147,  XI.  17.  Are  paragraph  types  recognizable  in  the  group  of 
paragraphs  (XI.,  XII.,  XIII.)?  If  so,  is  the  type  similar  to  that  of 
the  preceding  group?  — 147,  29.  Note  the  emphasis  of  the  sentence 
and  the  directness  of  the  connective. 

150,  XIII.  4.  In  the  second  edition  of  The  American  Common- 
wealth the  paragraph  was  nearly  three  times  as  long.  Could  it 
have  been  omitted  altogether  without  loss  to  the  sense?  Is  its  con- 
nection with  the  foregoing  clear? 


238  Notes 

151,  XV.  29.  Is  the  paragraph  parallel  in  structure  with  the 
preceding  or  is  it  subordinate  to  it?  In  other  words,  does  it  treat 
the  same  subject  from  a  new  point  of  view,  or  does  it  deal  merely 
with  illustration? 

152,  XVI.  23.  Does  the  closing  paragraph  seem  to  you  a  good 
summary  of  the  preceding  fifteen  paragraphs?  (^Cf.  Macaulay, 
XXIX.,  and  Celtic  Literature,  XVI.) 

V.  Summary.  —  A  student  would  do  well  to  make  a  simple  scheme 
of  the  paragraph  relations,  according  to  whatever  plan  seems  most 
feasible.  He  will  thus  get  a  complete  view  of  the  chapter  as  a 
whole.  As  regards  the  form  and  contents,  he  may  sum  up  his 
results  by  answering  the  following  questions  : 

1.  Can  you  recognize  a  prevailing  paragraph  type?  If  so,  is  the 
type  comparatively  more  common  than  in  the  preceding  essays? 
If  this  uniformity  exists,  does  it  aid  greatly  in  making  the  whole 
essay  clear?  To  put  the  question  differently,  how  far  is  the  great 
clearness  of  arrangement  due  to  the  paragraph  structure  ? 

2.  Should  there  logically  be  more  paragraphs? 

3.  Is  the  paragraph  unity  good?  The  emphasis?  The  co- 
herence? 

4.  Can  you  suggest  any  changes  in  structure  that  would  make  the 
chapter  clearer  ? 

5.  Does  the  chapter  seem  to  be  convincing?  What  parts  impress 
you  most  strongly,  and  why  ? 

VI.  Suggestions.  —  Examples  of  this  sort  of  structure  are  numer- 
ous, but  are  seldom  more  worthy  of  study  than  the  passage  here 
quoted.  School  text-books,  especially  such  as  the  best  grammars, 
furnish  instances  of  complete  analysis  of  particular  facts  and  cate- 
gorized results.  For  the  purpose  of  composition,  excellent  instances 
are  to  be  found  in  Burke ;  for  example,  the  analysis  of  the  causes 
for  the  love  of  freedom  among  Americans,  from  the  Speech  on  Con- 
ciliation with  America ;  in  Lord  Erskine's  Speeches ;  in  Mr.  Lecky's 
History  of  Europea^i  Morals ;  in  Mr.  John  Fiske's  The  Critical 
Period  of  American  History ;  and  in  many  other  books  which 
deal  with  history  in  an  expository  manner.  In  all  these  the  struct- 
ure is  difficult  in  proportion  as  the  material  is  hard  to  handle  and 
vast  in  extent ;  and  in  all,  it  should  be  kept  in  mind,  the  structure 
is  good  in  so  far  as  the  analysis  of  the  question  is  complete,  and 
the  presentation  of  the  results  simple. 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  239 


VI.    THE   CROWN  OF  WILD   OLIVE 

The  present  selection  is  far  more  significant  as  a  piece  of  style 
than  as  an  example  of  structure.  As  the  latter,  indeed,  it  adds 
almost  nothing  of  interest  to  the  preceding  essays,  and  is  certainly 
much  inferior  to  the  selections  from  Arnold  and  Bryce.  The  struct- 
ure may  be  summed  up,  in  a  word,  as  follows : 

Starting  with  two  examples  of  the  bad  spirit  displayed  in  modern 
business  (I., II.),  the  author  inquires  into  the  causes  of  such  ill-doing 
(III.)  ;  and  these  he  believes  he  finds  in  the  wrong  use  of  capital 
(IV.,  v.),  the  willingness  of  people  to  be  beguiled  into  buying  the 
wrong  thing  (VI.),  owing  to  their  inability  to  distinguish  profitable 
from  useless  work  (VII.).  Everywhere  there  stands  out  this  one 
great  failing  of  people  —  to  realize  that  the  value  of  anything  de- 
pends on  its  intrinsic  worth  (VIII.)  ;  and  the  failure  on  the  part  of  the 
audience  to  recognize  this  fact  constitutes  the  great  difficulty  against 
which  the  author  has  to  contend  in  giving  his  lectures  (IX.).  This 
leads  him  to  a  statement  of  his  second  great  obstacle  — his  in- 
ability to  assume  and  to  formulate  on  the  part  of  his  hearers  any 
definite  belief  in  regard  to  the  future  life  (X.,  XL),  a  fact  which,  as 
he  goes  on  to  say  (XII.),  kept  him  from  driving  his  points  home, 
though  he  always  tried  to  assume  among  his  hearers  a  belief  in 
God,  and  to  encourage  that  belief.  He  then  enters  his  eloquent 
plea  for  earnestness  of  purpose,  no  matter  what  the  future  may  be, 
and  for  a  cherishing  of  the  genuine  rewards  of  work  (XIII.-XVI.). 

In  the  details  of  the  selection  we  do  not  see  much  that  is  new. 
The  most  interesting  things  are  paragraphs  I.  and  II.,  the  sec- 
ond of  which  is,  so  to  speak,  the  complement  of  the  first,  and  gives 
the  reverse  of  the  picture  of  modern  bad  ways ;  the  structural 
repetitions  of  the  names  on  163,  9-12,  and  164,  8-28 ;  and  the  fre- 
quent hints  and  statements  of  the  author's  point  of  view,  as  in 
"  inner  tragic  meaning"  (155,  11),  in  160,  16-18,  and  in  the  last  six 
or  eight  paragraphs  {passim^ . 

In  general,  a  student  would  do  well  to  ask  himself  whether  he 
can  follow  the  course  of  thought  readily  from  beginning  to  end ; 
whether  the  essay  is  to  be  prized  less  specifically  as  an  introduction 
{cf.  Bryce,  I.)  to  a  series  of  lectures  —  which  are  but  six  or  seven 
times  as  long  as  the  selection  —  than  as  a  statement  of  a  point  of 


240  Notes 

view,  with  the  object  of  clearing  up  dubious  ground,  or  of  interest- 
ing the  sympathies  of  the  reader ;  and  whether  in  any  case  the  essay 
might  not  have  profitably  ended  sooner  than  it  does.  As  an  aid 
in  determining  Ruskin's  point  of  view,  a  student  should  turn  to  such 
works  as  Sesame  and  Lilies  and  Fors  Clavigera.  In  determining 
the  question  whether  an  essay  is  valuable  for  its  spirit  and  view  of 
life  or  for  its  specific  facts,  he  will  be  aided  by  reading  such  works 
as  Carlyle's  Sartor  Res  art  us,  Heroes  and  Hero-Worship,  any  of 
Emerson's  Essays,  such  essays  by  Stevenson  as  The  English  Ad- 
mirals, such  by  Lowell  as  On  a  Certain  Condescensioft  in  Foreigners ; 
and  even  more  dogmatic  essays,  such  as  Arnold's  Culture  and 
Anarchy. 

VII.    WHAT   IS  A  UNIVERSITY? 

The  present  selection  from  Newman  may  be  disposed  of  in  a  few 
words.  It  is  interesting  both  as  an  example  of  fine-drawn  structure 
and  of  clear,  luminous,  highly  polished  style ;  but  from  our  point 
of  view  —  the  examination  of  the  arrangement  of  the  thought  —  it 
presents  little  to  supplement  what  has  been  said  in  the  foregoing 
notes  about  structure,  and  offers  less  difficulty  to  the  student  —  to 
whom  may  be  left,  now  that  he  has  gained  some  notion  of  struct- 
ural forms,  the  making  of  a  general  plan  and  the  analysis  of  the 
details  of  the  building  up  and  joining  together. 

One  or  two  observations  only  are  necessary.  The  chapter  is 
occupied  entirely  with  a  definition  of  what  a  university  is.  This 
definition  may  seem  needlessly  long  —  until  it  is  borne  in  mind  that 
the  chapter  is  the  starting-point  of  the  whole  treatise  on  the  Rise 
and  Progress  of  Universities ;  hence  Newman's  object  to  secure  great 
clearness  and  luminosity  for  this  fundamental  idea,  and  his  desire  to 
fire  the  subject  with  his  own  enthusiasm  for  it  and  to  make  it  glow 
in  the  mind  of  his  reader.  The  latter  end  he  attains  through  his 
style ;  the  former,  with  which  we  are  now  concerned,  is  a  matter  of 
structure.  The  opening  paragraph  contains  the  definition ;  the 
remainder  of  the  chapter  is  taken  up  with  an  examination  of  the 
definition  from  various  points  of  view,  with  illustrations  of  the  ideas, 
with  contrasts,  and  with  summaries.  (For  a  full  and  interesting 
statement  of  the  methods  by  which  a  writer  may,  in  general,  expand 
his  fundamental  idea,  see  Genung,  The  Practical  Elements  of 
Rhetoric,  ed.  1894,  pp.  389-402.) 


General  Questions  on  Structure  241 

The  chief  points  to  be  noted  in  the  structure  of  the  chapter,  — 
and  these  processes  should  be  examined  in  detail  by  the  student,  — 
are:  (i)  the  narrowing  down  of  the  subject  from  the  two  great 
rival  methods  of  teaching,  in  the  opening  paragraphs,  to  the  idea 
of  the  oral  method,  or  the  university  ideal ;  (2)  the  sustained 
antithesis  between  these  two  ideas  (IV.) ;  (3)  the  balance  of  the 
paragraphs  (as  in  VI.,  VII.,  and  VIII.)  and  in  the  sentences  (as  in 
XI.)  ;  (4)  the  clearness  of  transition  and  exactness  of  emphasis 
(as  in  V.  and  VI.)  ;  (5)  and  the  significance  and  copiousness  of 
the  illustration.  These  are  the  sources  from  which  the  chapter 
gains  its  great  clearness  of  structure,  of  which,  as  may  be  seen  by 
examining  Discourse  II.  of  The  Idea  of  a  University^  Newman  is 
his  own  great  example. 

GENERAL  QUESTIONS  ON  STRUCTURE 

The  following  list  of  questions  is  added  to  enable  a  student  who 
has  followed  the  discussion  to  this  point  to  criticise  more  thoroughly 
any  bit  of  explanatory  work  which  he  may  have  to  take  up.  These 
questions  naturally  fall  into  two  groups:  (i)  those  on  the  kind  of 
composition  and  form  of  structure ;  and  (2)  those  on  the  excellence 
of  the  method  as  a  carrying  out  of  the  author's  purpose.  The 
former  —  which  are  again  divided  into  three  classes  —  enable  a 
student  roughly  to  see  what  an  author  has  attempted  to  do,  and 
how  he  has  done  it,  both  as  a  whole  and  in  detail ;  the  latter  have 
as  their  aim  to  aid  the  student  in  forming  critical  judgments  in 
regard  to  the  value  of  the  work. 

I.   Questions  on  the  form  of  composition  and  kind  of  structure : 

A.   On  the  kind  of  composition: 

1.  What  is  the  purpose  of  the  author? 

2.  What  is  the  nature  of  his  subject-matter? 

3.  What  are  the  conditions  under  which  he  is  writing? 

4.  Whom  does  he  address? 

5.  Is  the  answer  to  any  one  of  the  foregoing  questions  directly 
stated  in  the  essay?     Is  it  implied  or  suggested  ? 

6.  What,  in  view  of  the  answers  to  the  foregoing,  should  you 
naturally  expect  to  be  the  most  noticeable  quality  in  the  arrangement 
of  the  composition? 


242  Notes 

7.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  how  does  the  essay  impress  you  ?  Is  your 
expectation  borne  out  ? 

8.  Is  the  personaHty  of  the  author  in  any  way  suggested  by  the 
essay  ? 

B,   On  the  structure  of  the  composition : 

1.  Can  you  make  any  general  division  of  the  essay  into  intro- 
duction, body  of  the  work,  and  conclusion? 

2.  In  the  introduction  does  the  author  do  more  than  state  his 
object?  Does  he  give  you  any  outline  of  the  thought?  Does 
he  make  any  special  demand  on  his  reader  or  appeal  to  him  ? 

3.  What  are  the  main  points  in  the  body  of  the  essay? 

4.  Are  these  points  closely  related?  Do  they  fall  into  groups? 
Are  they  intimately  connected  with  the  introduction  and  do  they 
carry  out  the  line  of  thought  indicated  in  it? 

5.  Do  you  notice  the  repetition  of  any  points? 

6.  What  does  the  author  attempt  in  the  conclusion?  Does  he 
try  to  "  strike  a  balance,"  so  to  speak,  to  leave  a  pleasant  impres- 
sion on  the  reader's  mind,  or  to  make  an  exact  summary? 

7.  How  is  the  conclusion  related  to  the  rest  of  the  essay? 

8.  In  the  conclusion  are  any  new  points  brought  out  either 
directly  or  by  suggestion? 

9.  In  general,  what  relation  has  the  explicitness  of  the  essay  to 
the  object  which  the  author  has  in  mind,  to  the  condition  under 
which  he  writes,  to  the  audience  whom  he  addresses?  What  rela- 
tion has  the  arrangement  of  the  essay  to  these  things  ? 

'  C,   On  the  rhetorical  forms  and  details  of  structure  : 

I.  Do  you  notice  in  the  essay  any  prevailing  type  of  structure 
(in  the  whole  composition,  in  the  paragraphs,  or  in  the  sentences) 
to  which  you  can  give  such  names  as  "antithetical,"  i.e.  the  bal- 
ancing of  the  parts  of  the  elements  of  the  composition  against  one 
another ;  "  deductive,"  i.e.  the  statement  of  the  conclusion,  or  the 
point  to  be  reached,  before  the  amplification;  "inductive,"  i.e.  the 
leading  up  from  particulars  to  a  conclusion  ?  (For  various  types  of  one 
element,  paragraph,  see  the  excellent  analysis  in  Scott  and  Denney's 
Paragraph-  Writing.  For  our  purposes,  the  names  are  of  no  special 
importance ;  it  is  sufficient  if  a  student  learns  to  recognize  in  an 
essay  a  certain  method  and  type  of  structure.) 


Bibliography  of  Structure  243 

2.  Do  you  notice  any  close  binding  together  of  paragraphs  as 
indicated  by  the  explicitness  of  the  transitions  ?  Do  you  note  many 
sentences  which  seem  to  you  to  fulfil  no  other  purpose  than  to  lead 
from  one  idea  to  another?  Do  any  entire  paragraphs  seem  to 
subserve  no  other  function  than  this,  or  to  be  introduced  merely 
for  illustration  ? 

3.  What  can  you  say  about  the  unity  of  the  paragraphs?  Do 
you  note  any  ideas  which  do  not  seem  to  bear  on  the  main  thought? 
What  of  the  emphasis?  Are  the  ideas  clearly  brought  out?  What 
of  the  coherence?  Do  you  note  any  ideas  which  seem  to  be  un- 
connected? (For  a  fuller  discussion  of  these  terms,  see  Rhetoric^ 
Chap.  X.) 

II.   On  the  excellence  of  the  structure : 

1.  Of  the  essays  printed  in  this  volume,  which  seems  to  you  to 
have  the  clearest  structure?  In  which,  allowing  for  the  length,  can 
you  most  easily  follow  the  thought  ? 

2.  Do  you  think  that,  in  any  of  the  foregoing  essays,  a  method 
other  than  that  used  could  have  been  employed  with  better  results? 

3.  Which  essay  seems  to  you  the  most  interesting?  Which  the 
most  weighty  as  regards  matter? 

4.  Do  any  parts  of  any  of  the  preceding  essays  appear  to  you 
unnecessary  or  unconnected  with  the  subject  of  the  essay? 

BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  STRUCTURE 

In  addition  to  the  references  to  Carpenter's  Exercises  in  Rhetoric 
and  English  Composition^  the  student  will  find  the  following  refer- 
ences to  the  more  modern  treatises  on  Rhetoric  helpful  in  giving 
collateral  information  about  structure. 

A.   On  the  method  or  kind  of  compositiori : 

Baldwin,  C.  S.     Specimens  of  Prose  Description.    New  York  (Holt), 

1895.     Introduction. 
Fletcher,    J.   B.,  and   Carpenter,  G.   R.      Introduction  to   Theme- 

Writing.     Boston   (Allyn   and   Bacon),  1893.     pp.   2-4  and 

64-109. 
Genung,  J.  F.     The  Practical  Elements  of  Rhetoric.    Boston  (Ginn), 

1894.     pp.  326-474. 


244  Notes 

Hill,  A.  S.     The  Principles  of  Rhetoric  (revised  edition).     New 

York  (Harper's),  1895.     pp.  247-400. 
Lamont,  H.     Specimens  of  Exposition  (second  edition).     New  York 

(Holt),  1896.     Introduction. 
McElroy,  J.  G.  R.     The  Striictiire  of  Efiglish  Prose.     New  York 

(Armstrong),  1890.    pp.  281-327.    (Note.  — The  classifications 

of  McElroy,  though  suggestive,  are  somewhat  too  subtle  and 

should  be  accepted  with  caution.) 

B.  On  the  structure  of  the  composition : 

Baker,  G.  P.     The  Principles  of  Argumentation.     Boston  (Ginn), 

1895.     pp.  269-342. 
Genung,  J.  F.    The  Practical  Elemetits  of  Rhetoric.    Boston  (Ginn), 

1894.     pp.  248-300. 
Hill,  A.   S.     The  Principles  of  Rhetoric  (revised   edition).     New 

York  (Harper's),  1895.     pp.  239-246. 
Wendell,  Barrett.     English  Composition.     New  York  (Scribner's), 

1893.     pp.  150-192. 

C.  On  the  principles  and  types  of  structure  in  paragraphs : 

Hill,  A.  S.     The  Fomtdations  of  Rhetoric.     New  York  (Harper's), 

1892.  pp.  305-325- 

Hill,  A.   S.     The  Principles  of  Rhetoric  (revised  edition).     New 

York  (Harper's),  1895.     pp.  230-238. 
Lewis,  E.  H.     The  History  of  the  English  Paragraph.     Chicago 

(The   University  of  Chicago   Press),   1894.     Particularly  pp. 

20-33. 
Scott,  F.  N.,  and  Denney,  J.  V.     Paragraph- Writing.     Boston 

(Allyn  and  Bacon),  1893. 
Wendell,  Barrett.     English  Composition.     New  York  (Scribner's), 

1893.  pp.  114-149- 


NOTES   ON   THE   STYLE   OF   THE   FORE- 
GOING  ESSAYS 


In  our  study  of  structure  we  have  seen  three  things,  (i)  the 
architectural  plan,  so  to  speak,  of  the  thought,  (2)  the  methods 
by  which  the  thought  is  fitly  framed  and  joined  together  into  a 
whole,  and  (3),  as  a  larger  problem  following  these  two-,  the  fitness 
of  the  stmcture,  thus  planned  and  articulated,  to  meet  the  con- 
ditions, both  of  purpose  and  of  circumstance,  imposed  upon  the 
author.  Hence,  whatever  element  of  composition  —  the  word,  the 
sentence,  or  the  paragraph  —  has  had  a  place  in  showing  the  rela- 
tion of  idea  to  idea,  has  been  an  object  of  our  previous  analysis. 

In  the  following  studies  we  are  to  deal  with  the  material  from  a 
new  point  of  view  —  that  of  style.  This  study  is  more  difficult  than 
that  of  structure,  since  style  is  in  its  effects  more  subtile  and  elusive. 
Thus,  style  has  been  variously  characterized  :  Swift  called  it,  "  Proper 
words  in  proper  places";  Buffon  said,  *^  Le  style,  c'est  Fhomme"; 
Arnold  had  it,  "  Style,  in  my  sense  of  the  word,  is  a  peculiar  recast- 
ing and  heightening,  under  certain  conditions  of  spiritual  excitement, 
of  what  a  man  has  to  say,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  add  dignity  and  dis- 
tinction to  it "  ;  and  these  are  but  a  few  of  even  the  eminent  phrases 
that  have  attempted  to  define  the  word.  De  Quincey,  Spencer,  Pater, 
Stevenson,  Symonds,  and  a  host  of  well-known  men,  besides  many 
rhetoricians,!  have  all  expounded  their  ideas  on  the  subject,  and  these 
have  not  agreed  in  all  respects.  It  behooves  us,  then,  to  formulate 
an  approximate  definition  for  the  word,  a  working  definition  rather 
than  a  philosophical  one  ;  and  this,  for  our  present  purposes,  we  may 

1  For  a  fuller  list  of  references  see  BibWography  of  Style,  p.  279. 
245 


246  Notes 

state  as  follows :  Style  is  the  peculiar  turn  which  a  writer  gives 
to  his  expression  of  an  idea. 

The  definition  is  vague ;  but  a  study  of  style,  according  to  its 
terms,  implies  several  things  which  are  to  our  purpose.  In  the  first 
place,  it  necessitates  a  study  of  the  technique  of  each  selection  in  so 
far  as  the  expression  is  peculiar;  that  is,  of  its  words  —  their  choice, 
number,  and^the  like  ;  of  its  sentences  —  their  length,  form,  compo- 
sition, and  the  like ;  and,  so  far  as  may  be  advisable,  of  the  larger 
units.  These  larger  units,  paragraphs  and  sections,  are,  however, 
chiefly  structural  in  value ;  and,  moreover,  since  style  can  be  seen 
almost  as  well  in  one  page  as  in  twenty,  these  larger  units  are  chiefly 
useful  for  comparison  with  one  another  and  as  examples  of  the  same 
phenomena  often  repeated.  In  the  second  place,  the  definition  im- 
plies a  study  of  the  appropriateness  of  the  style  to  the  end  which 
the  author  had  in  view  ;  that  is,  after  we  have  seen  the  end  which  the 
author  had  in  vi^w,  we  try  to  determine  the  fitness  of  the  style  to 
that  end.  Lastly,  as  a  corollary  to  these  studies,  the  definition  may 
imply  that  we  should  gather  some  impressions  concerning  the  author's 
individual  way  of  looking  at  things,  that  is,  of  his  personality. 

This  order  of  procedure  would  be  natural  in  carrying  on  our  study 
of  style.  Since,  however,  the  preceding  study  of  structure  has  given 
us  not  only  an  idea  of  the  thought  plan,  but  —  as  could  hardly  help 
being  the  case  —  an  impression,  also,  of  the  effect  of  the  style,  we 
may,  as  a  matter  of  practice,  proceed  rather  more  directly  to  work 
than  our  definition,  rigidly  carrjed  out,  would  allow.  It  will  be  suf- 
ficient, then,  simply  to  single  out  those  qualities  of  the  words  and 
sentences  which  contribute  largely  to  the  total  effect  of  the  style ; 
that  is,  the  commonest  and  most  frequently  recurring  characteristics 
of  the  style.  Exceptional  details  and  the  suggestion  of  the  author's 
personality  will  be  hinted  at  only  in  a  general  way,  and  chiefly  as 
they  challenge  comparison  with  the  style  of  other  authors. 


I.   THE   DEFEAT   OF   THE   SPANISH   ARMADA 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Style.  —  Force  is  undoubtedly  the  chief  qual- 
ity of  Froude's  style  as  we  see  it  in  the  narrative  of  the  defeat  of 
the  Armada.  In  our  previous  study  of  the  selection  we  saw  that 
the  structure  of  the  piece  is  a  whole  was  even  and  straightforward, 


.      The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  ■  Annada  247 

but  that  some  details  were  out  of  place,  or  not  well  proportioned  to 
the  whole,  or  not  clear.  In  spite  of  these  defects,  no  one  would 
question  the  power  of  Froude^s  narrative ;  it  is  so  vigorous,  indeed, 
that,  though  done  on  a  large  scale,  it  hurries  a  reader  over  the  defects 
of  structure,  and  leaves  with  him  a  strong  impression  of  strength. 
This  quality  of  force,  this  power  to  hold  the  reader's  attention,  is 
due  to  the  style  of  the  narrative,  principally  to  the  words,  but  also  to 
the  sentences;  and  it  is  our  object  to  show  by  what  handling  of 
word  and  sentence  this  effect  is  produced. 

II.  Technique  of  the  Style.  —  A.  Words.  —  The  first  and  most 
obvious  characteristic  of  Froude's  vocabulary  is  its  specificness. 
This  is  manifest  in  several  ways,  but  chiefly  in  the. verbs  and  the 
nouns.  Froude  rarely  contents  himself  with  a  verb  which  does  not 
single  out  the  particular  act ;  and  since  the  verb  is  typically  the  part 
of  speech  for  narration,  the  value  of  the  verbs  to  the  narrative  can 
hardly  be  over-estimated.  Page  21  furnishes  convenient  and  typi- 
cal cases  of  this  :,  the  Spanish  vessels  "swept  on"  (3) ;  the  English 
at  once  "weighed"  (11)  ;  Sidonia  saw  sails  "passing "  (20)  vaguely 
and  appropriately,  for  there  was  not  enough  light  "  to  measure  his 
enemy's  strength"  (19);  the  English  "glided  out"  (28),  and  "were 
hovering"  ^97^0^  ^^^^  by  but "  at  their  rear  just  out  of  cannon-shot" 
(29).  So,  too,  to  take  a  few  isolated  cases  of  various  sorts,  we  have 
"rushed"  (2,  26)  instead  of  the  more  general  "came";  a  mast 
or  two  had  been  "sprung,"  a  few  yards  and  bowsprits  had  been 
'^carried  away"  (14,  21-23)  5  ^^e  boat  "shot  away"  (17,  21)  ;  the 
privateers  were  "warped  out"  (20,  5);  the  Armada  ^^made  sail" 
(22,  3);  the  Capitaiia  ^"^^trtick"  her  flag  (25,  15);  Sidonia  « dis- 
patched" a  letter  to  Parma  (27,  21)  ;  young  lords  and  gentlemen 
came  "streaming"  in  every  smack  or  sloop  that  they  could  "lay 
hold  of,"  to  "snatch"  their  share  of  danger  and  glory  at  Howard's 
side  (30,  21-24);  the  Ark  RaleigJCs  rudder  was  "unshipped" 
(32,  \Z\  cf.  the  verbs  throughout  the  paragraph);  the  English 
balls,  "  ripped "  through  the  oak  (33,  12);  the  Flemish  pilots 
" slipped ^overHoard,  "stole"  the  cock-boats,  "set"  their  shirts  for 
sails,  and  "made  for"  Flushing  (38,  16);  and  numerous  other 
instances. 

A  great  many  of  these  verbs  are,  of  course,  specific  nautical  terms. 
Many,  too,  are  originally  of  figurative  value  and  h.ave  not  wholly 
lost  their  metaphorical  turn.     Thus  we  have  such  verbs  as  "  crept 


248  Notes 

back"  (15,  24),  "culled"  (16,  i),  "flew"  (19,  3),  "flocking"  (5), 
"wringing"  (27,  8),  "plunged"  (33,  21),  "clung"  (40,  13), 
"promised"  (42,  12),  "leaping"  (21),  "swarmed"  (44,  26), 
"pour"  (47,  2),  "reeling"  (48,  9),  and  many  other  instances  of 
equally  inconspicuous  single-word  metaphors. 

Again,  some  of  these  specific  verbs  are  of  much  homeliness  and 
idiomatic  vigour.  Thus  we  find  "  breaking  each  other's  heads  upon 
the  quays"  (3,  4),  "the  different  squadrons  huddled  together" 
(24,  21),  "Palmer  proposed  to  .  .  .  fetch  over  some  worthless 
hulks"  (41,  25),  " probably  pitching  them  into  the  sea"  (45,  19), 
and  other  such  homely  phrases. 

The  nouns  are  no  less  specific  than  the  verbs,  but,  since  the  verb 
is  for  narration  the  most  important  part  of  speech,  they  are  perhaps 
less  significant.  We  find  that  Froude  prefers  to  use  several  specific 
nouns  where  one  or  two  general  words  might  have  answered  the 
purpose.  Examples  of  this  are  common  enough :  we  are  told  not 
that  there  were  many  cannon,  the  finest  that  could  be  had,  but  that 
there  were  "  two  thousand  four  hundred  and  thirty,  ...  of  brass 
and  iron  of  various  sizes,  the  finest  that  the  Spanish  foundries  could 
produce"  (4,  17),  and  not  that  these  were  more  powerful  than  the 
English,  but  that  "  the  weight  of  metal  which  they  were  able  to  throw 
exceeded  enormously  the  power  of  the  English  broadsides"  (20). 
So,  too,  Don  Alonzo's  family  had  not  merely  fought  against  pirates ; 
they  "  had  for  several  generations  been  the  terror  of  Mediterranean 
corsairs"  (6,  23).  So,  too,  in  places  somewhat  aside  from  the 
main  track  of  the  narrative,  we  learn  that  the  Dutch  supplied  the 
Spanish  "  with  salt  herrings  for  their  fasting  days,  and  brought  to 
Lisbon  from  the  Baltic -the  hemp  and  tar  with  which  the  Armada 
itself  had  been  fitted  out"  (7,  21);  and  that  in  Flanders  Parma 
was  not  merely  ready,  but :  "  the  quays  of  Nieuport  and  Dunkirk 
were  thronged  with  hoys  and  barges.  The  cavalry  horses  were 
stabled  in  the  towns  ready  to  embark ;  the  troops  encamped  in  the 
immediate  environs.  Artillery  stores,  platforms,  crates,  pioneers' 
tools  were  already  on  board"  (8,  15). 

Closely  akin  in  effect  to  these  specific  and  definite  words  and 
making  toward  the  same  end  of  vividness  and  vigour  is  Froude's 
use  of  proper  names  and  quotations.  The  usefulness  of  the  former 
as  a  matter  of  style  is  to  give  colour  and  life  to  a  passage.  Notable 
instances  occur  in  pages  2,  17-28:   6,  i-7,  7;  30,  17-21  ;  41,  14- 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  249 

18 ;  and  many  other  places  in  which  names  are  accumulated.  The 
best-known  instance  of  the  same  sort  in  the  literature  of  the  century 
is  probably  Macaulay's  description  of  the  scene  at  the  trial  of  Warren 
Hastings,  in  the  paragraph  beginning,  "  The  place  was  worthy  of 
such  a  trial."     (^Cf.  Rhetoric^  pp.  117-119.) 

As  regards  the  quotations,  their  function  in  heightening  the  effect 
of  the  style  probably  comes  from  the  fact  that  they  tend  to  take 
the  reader  back  to  the  actual  time  of  conflict,  to  serve  the  purpose, 
so  to  speak,  of  the  historical  present  tense  by  representing  the 
scene  as  if  it  were  taking  place.  This  effect  is  obvious  enough  in' 
the  larger  pieces  of  quotation,  such  as  paragraph  XI.  and  of  Sidonia's 
letter  to  Parma  (XLL),  but  it  is  also  to  be  seen  in  such  smaller  bits 
as  23,  12,  13  ;  31,  19-21  ;  37,  21,  22  ;  39,  23  ;  and  others.  The  same 
general  effect  is  the  indirect  discourse  of  IX.,  X.,  XLVIL,  and  the 
like.  Compare  also  the  sarcasm  of  such  phrases  as  "  the  long-suf- 
fering and  sweet  and  fatherly  forbearance  of  the  chief  shepherd  of 
the  Church"  (11,23). 

Froude's  figures  of  speech,  perhaps,  gain  their  effects  from  this 
same  power  of  reproducing,  so  to  speak,  the  thought  of  the  time. 
In  general,  Froude^s  figures,  aside  from  those  contained  in  his  specific 
and  single-word  metaphors,  are  not  numerous,  but  they  are  often 
aptly  used.  Thus,  ."like  ravens  to  the  spoil  of  the  heretics  "  (2, 17) 
and  "  as  at  the  call  of  an  archangel "  (27)  give  the  point  of  view  of 
the  invaders.  Froude  also  uses  some  common  synecdoche  and 
metonymy ;  and  the  virulence  of  the  transcription  of  the  Cardinal's 
proclamation  (IX.,  X.,  XI.)  is  in  part  due  to  the  personification, 
placed  in  strong  emphasis,  of  such  words  as  "  Vengeance  "  (10,  2) 
and  "Ruin"  (3),  as  well  as  to  the  strong  metaphors  "scum  and 
filth  of  mankind  "  (10,  24) ,  and  the  like: 

The  student  must  have  been  struck  by  the  largeness  of  Froude's 
vocabulary.  It  is  rare  that,  aside  from  auxiliary  and  connective 
words,  he  uses  the. same  word  twice  in  one  paragraph,  as  "flew" 
(19,3,  22)  and  "broke"  (24,  26,25,  i).  In  respect  to' copious- 
ness, variety,  and  readiness  Froude  is  excelled  by  no  historian 
of  the  century,  not  even  by  Macaulay.  This  fact  means  that  he  has 
at  command  whatever  word  he  wants  to  use.  The  variety  of  words 
prevents  dulness,.  just,  as  the  specific  nouns  give  the  narrative  its 
colour  and  the  specific  verbs  its  vitality  of  movement. 

One   or  two   blemishes  should   be   noted  in  passing.     Froude, 


250  Notes 

apparently  in  his  eagerness  for  specific  words  and  large  variety, 
introduces  such  superfluous  words  as  "  chosen"  in  the  phrase  "culled 
and  chosen"  (16,  i),  and  is  guilty  of  bad  order,  as  in  "flurried 
and  surprised"  (23,  14),  where  we  should  more  naturally  expect 
"surprised  and  flurried."  These,  however,  are  minor  points  and 
are  hardly  to  our  main  purpose  —  to  find  out  how  Froude  obtains 
his  vigour. 

B.  Sentences. — The  most  notable  quality  of  Froude's  sentences 
contributing  to  the  vigour  of  his  narrative  is  the  amount  of  sim- 
*ple,  direct  statement  which  they  contain.  Thus  each  of  the  first 
five  sentences  of  I.  is  simple  and  declarative,  and  the  length  is 
short  (15.6  words  average)  ;  and  the  remainder  of  the  paragraph  is 
not  very  different  in  effect.  Other  of  the  many  examples  are 
XXXI.,  XXXII.,  XL.,  and  XLIX.,  in  which,  with  the  exception  of 
the  last,  the  average  sentence  length  is  less  than  twenty  words  and 
of  the  last  only  23.50. 

In  many  other  paragraphs,  the  average  sentence  length  of  which 
is  considerably  greater  than  that  of  these  and  of  the  entire  selection 
(24.58),  the  effect  is  not  very  notably  different.  Thus  in  VIII.  the 
average  length  of  the  four  sentences  is  29.25,  but  there  are  three 
"ands,"  which  make  three  compound  sentences  and  a  total,  therefore, 
of  seven  distinct  co-ordinate  statements.  So,  too,  the  greater  sen- 
tence length  of  XXI.  (48),  XXXVII.  (48.43),  XXXIX.  (42.6),  and 
others  is  to  be  accounted  for,  in  a  large  measure,  by  the  frequent 
use  of  the  conjunctions  "and"  and,  sometimes,  "  but."  These  con- 
junctions, of  course,  dull,  so  to  speak,  the  edge  of  a  sentence  and 
make  the  movement  less  rapid,  but  the  sentences  conform  to  the 
usual  declarative  type. 

The  effect  of  the  sentence  is  often  heightened  in  other  ways  akin 
to  this.  Chief  among  these  is  the  similarity  of  fhe  beginning  of 
many.  Thus  in  IV.  all  the  sentences  but  the  fifth  begin  with 
"  The  .  .  .  was  "  or  a  simple  declarative  formula.  The  same  sort 
of  formula  is  to  be  seen  in  V.,  VI.,  XVII.,  especially  XXXIV.,  XLL, 
XLV.,  LI.,  LIIL,  LV.,  and  LVII.  Again,  in  many  of  the  para- 
graphs just  referred  to,  the  emphasis  is  strongly  marked,  and  other 
paragraphs  in  which  we  find  strongly  emphasized  sentences  are 
VII.,  XXXVIII.,  and  XLIII.  Again,  the  effect  is  occasionally 
heightened  by  the  balance,  which  may  be  regarded  as  a  more 
deliberate  handling  of  the  parallel  sentences  which  we  have  before 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  25  i 

noted.  II.,  especially  the  last  sentence  (3,  20),  and  IX.,  contain 
good  examples  of  this,  but  the  instances  of  carefully  wrought 
balance  are  not  numerous. 

Paragraphs  X.  and  XI.  furnish  good  examples,  by  way  of  contrast, 
of  the  effect  that  may  be  produced  by  sentences.  X.  contains  six 
sentences  with  an  average  length  of  40.16  words.  XI.,  excluding 
the  subscription,  contains  twenty-five,  with  an  average  of  15.72 
words.  X.  contains  ten  main  predications,  or  only  two  sentences 
with  one  subject  and  one  predicate;  XI.  contains  twenty-eight 
clauses  of  equivalent  value,  or  as  many  as  twenty-two  sentences 
with  only  one  predicate.  *  The  emphasis  of  the  words  in  the  sen- 
tences of  the  two  paragraphs  is  not  very  different;  in  both  it  is 
strong.  The  effect,  however,  of  X.  is  totally  unlike  that  of  XI. : 
X.  is  rather  slow  and  deliberate;  XI.  is  choppy  and  virulent;  and 
this  diiTerence  is  chiefly  due  to  the  length  of  the  sentences.  The 
latter  paragraph,  though  not  narrative,  shows  the  value,  for  strength, 
of  short,  vigorous  sentences.  Since  Fronde's  sentences  incline  to 
the  type  and  mould  of  the  second  paragraph  rather  than  that  of 
the  first,  we  may  say  that  to  the  amount  of  simple  statement  and  the 
strong  emphasis  the  speed  of  Fronde's  style  is  due,  just  as  his 
vividness  is  the  result  of  his  wording. 

There  are  some  possible  defects  which  can  hardly  be  passed  over 
without  comment.  Froude  too  often  lapses  into  clumsily  loose 
sentences.  We  have  seen  the  effect  for  rapidity  of  narrative  of  the 
short,  vigorously  emphasized  sentences ;  and  when  these  are  peri- 
odic, as  in  the  first  three  sentences  of  I.,  or  only  naturally  and 
moderately  loose,  as  in  the  remaining  sentences  of  that  paragraph, 
the  effect  is  strengthened.  And  it  does  not  detract  from  the  vigour 
of  Froude's  narrative  to  find  that  in  a  characteristic  passage,  such 
as  the  last  three  paragraphs,  there  is,  in  twenty-four  sentences,  of 
which  nine  are  simple  declarative  sentences,  only  one  (46,  27) 
deliberately  periodic ;  for  the  order  in  all  is  natural.  But  such 
sentences,  of  which  there  are  a  number,  as  4,  11  and  5,  12,  and  pos- 
sibly such  as  42,  16,  43,  12,  and  47,  3,  through  undue  looseness, 
mar  the  force  of  the  style  for  narrative.  So,  too,  for  exactly  the 
opposite  reason,  such  piled-up  clause-heaps  as  29,  9,  and  35,  5, 
are  elements  of  weakness. 

Another  fault  lies  in  the  connectives.  Good  as  are  these  fre- 
quently recurring  "  and's  "  and  ^'  but's  "  for  giving  the  narrative  its 


252  Notes 

declarative  eifect  and  at  the  same  time  blunting  the  barb  of  too 
many  simple  sentences,  they  are  sometimes  too  numerous.  Good 
examples  of  this  not  uncommon  fault  occur  in  30,  14-24.  Some- 
times, too,  the  connectives  are  really  inaccurate,  as  "and"  in  18,  7, 
and  possibly  "  but  "  in  6,  3. 

The  method  and  quality  of  Froude's  sentences  may  be  more 
firmly  fixed  by  a  comparison  between  any  characteristic  passage 
from  the  selection  and  a  paragraph  from  another  great  narrative 
historian  of  the  century  —  Macaulay.  A  single  paragraph  is  perhaps 
hardly  an  adequate  amount  of  material  to  base  comparisons  on ; 
but  since  Macaulay  shows  little  variation  from  a  normal  and  fixed 
standard  of  sentence,^  certainly  less  than  Froude,  and  since  the 
following  passage  is  characteristic  of  the  author,  it  may  be  taken  for 
comparison : 

"The  battle  [Plassey]  commenced  with  a  cannonade  in  which 
the  artillery  of  the  Nabob  did  scarcely  any  execution,  while  the  few 
field-pieces  of  the  English  produced  great  effect.  Several  of  the 
most  distinguished  officers  in  Surajah  Dowlah's  service  fell.  Dis- 
order began  to  spread  through  his  ranks.  His  own  terror  increased 
every  moment.  One  of  the  conspirators  urged  on  him  the  expedi- 
ency of  retreating.  The  insidious  advice,  agreeing  as  it  did  with 
what  his  own  terrors  suggested,  was  readily  received.  He  ordered 
his  army  to  fall  back,  and  this  order  decided  his  fate.  Clive 
snatched  the  moment,  and  ordered  his  troops  to  advance.  The 
confused  and  dispirited  multitude  gave  way  before  the  onset  of 
disciplined  valour.  No  mob  attacked  by  regular  soldiers  was  ever 
more  completely  routed.  The  little  band  of  Frenchmen,  who 
alone  ventured  to  confront  the  English,  were  swept  down  the  stream 
of  fugitives.  In  an  hour  the  forces  of  Surajah  Dowlah  were  dis- 
persed, never  to  reassemble.  Only  five  hundred  of  the  vanquished 
were  slain.  But  their  camp,  their  guns,  their  baggage,  innumerable 
waggons,  innumerable  cattle,  remained  in  the  power  of  the  con- 
querors. With  the  loss  of  twenty-two  soldiers  killed  and  fifty 
wounded,  Clive  had  scattered  an  army  of  near  sixty  thousand  men, 
and  subdued  an  empire  larger  and  more  populous  than  Great 
Britain."  —  Lord  Clive. 

1  Cf.  Sherman :  Analytics  of  Literature,  p.  259 ;  and  Lewis :  The  History 
of  the  English  Paragraph,  pp.  142-146, 


The  Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada  253 

Macaulay's  paragraph  obviously  has  better  unity  than  almost  any 
one  of  Froude's  and  is  more  evenly  proportioned.  The  sentences, 
after  the  first,  are  conspicuously  of  more  nearly  equal  length,  and  are 
more  uniformly  periodic.  But  it  may  be  doubted  whether,  as  a  whole, 
they  produce  an  effect  of  greater  vigour ;  for  Froude  certainly  gains  his 
power  in  a  greater  variety  of  ways,  is. less  monotonous  in  his  rhythm, 
and  consequently  thrusts  his  style  less  constantly  upon  the  reader. 
Incidentally  it  should  be  noted  that  the  vocabulary  of  the  passage 
quoted  is  much  less  specific  than  that  of  Froude's  narrative ;  but  the 
passage  is  done  on  a  smaller  scale. 

III.  Summary  and  Suggestions. — Among  the  foregoing  facts  of 
Froude's  style,  the  student  should  keep  clearly  before  him  the  two 
chief  elements  which  give  it  strength  —  the  vividness  of  the  wording 
and  the  simple  forward  movement  of  the  sentences.  For  further 
exercise  a  student  should,  of  course,  verify  these  observations,  search 
for  more  examples,  and  discover  other  peculiarities  ;  and  he  may  fix 
his  results  more  definitely  by  mathematically  ascertaining  the  size 
of  the  vocabulary,  the  range  and  number  of  the  connectives,  the 
sentence-length,  the  percentage  of  simple  sentences,  the  amount  of 
predication,  of  periodic  sentences,  and  the  like.  Such  methods 
of  analyzing  style  are,  however,  not  specially  apt  in  the  present 
case :  in  general,  they  are  too  mechanical  to  satisfy  the  sense  and 
feeling  for  style  which  a  student  should  try  to  cultivate;  and 
Froude's  style  is  so  plain  a  thing  that  these  methods  are  hardly 
necessary.  Looking  at  the  seven  essays  as  a  whole,  we  find  the 
present  selection  a  good  point  of  departure  for  fixing  in  mind 
one  or  two  obvious  qualities  of  style. 

One  or  two  questions  about  a  larger  subject  may  not  be  out  of 
place.  Does  Froude  seem  to  write  hastily,  with  too  much  sure- 
ness,  or  undue  ardour?  Is  he  always  scrupulous  to  state  the  truth, 
as,  for  example,  when  in  40,  23  he  conveys  a  slightly  different  effect 
from  that  of  his  quotation  of  the  letter  from  Howard  to  Walsing- 
ham  (footnote  46)  ?  Is  the  large  amount  of  predication  in  Froude, 
compared  with  contemporary  writers,  due  to  his  falling  into  the 
manner  of  sixteenth-century  chroniclers,  from  whom  he  took  much 
of  his  material? 


254  Notes 


II.  PERSONAL  EXPERIENCE  AND  REVIEW 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Style.— We  have  seen  (p.  205)  that  Steven- 
son's purpose  is  to  present  a  few  of  his  observations  and  impressions 
during  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  The  events  are  common- 
place enough,  they  have  nothing  of  the  largeness  which  characterizes 
Froude's  narrative  ;  and  hence  one  can  hardly  look  for  a  style  of  great 
brilliance.  Simplicity,  absence  of  ornateness  and  pomposity,  one 
would  say,  are  the  effects  to  look  for  in  the  style,  as  we  have  seen 
them  to  be  the  characteristics  of  the  structure.  As  a  matter  of  im- 
pression, these  are  the  qualities  which  one  finds  most  constant,  and 
with  them  some  impression  of  deliberateness,  much  freshness,  and  a 
good  deal  of  individuality.  Since  these  qualities  are  more  subtile 
than  the  qualities  of  Froude's  style,  the  analysis  of  them  will  be  cor- 
respondingly more  complicated. 

II.  Technique  of  the  Essay.  —  A.  Words.  —  Perhaps  the  most 
constant  quality  of  the  vocabulary  is  simplicity.  This  is  so  common 
that  specific  instances  need  hardly  be  given,  but  50,  19-24,  52, 
21-25,  58,  1-5,  to  choose  at  random,  are  cases  in  point.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  simple  mathematics,  the  present  selection  is  the  only  one  in 
the  volume  which  contains  more  than  nine  words  per  line  (9.19). 
Next  to  this  is  The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  (8.95) ;  and  the  other 
extreme  is  The  Strength  of  American  De?nocracy  (8.29).  Less  sig- 
nificant is  the  fact  that  the  essay  contains  about  eighteen  per  cent 
of  foreign  words :  two  pages  chosen  at  random,  one  from  the  first 
half  (54),  the  other  from  the  last  half  of  the  chapter  (60),  contain  in 
543  words  (counting  as  two  such  compounds  as  "  fellow-passenger  " 
and  omitting  proper  names),  108  or  18.05  P^^  cent  of  foreign  ori- 
gin. For  the  general  effect  of  short  native  words,  see  Rhetoric^ 
pp.  63  and  67-70. 

This  simplicity  appears  at  times  to  be  studied ;  Stevenson  seems 
to  choose  his  words  with  considerable  deliberation.  The  phenom- 
enon is  manifest  in  several  ways:  (i)  in  plain  homely  phrasing, 
(2)  in  the  pairing  of  words,  (3)  in  new  combinations  of  perfectly 
common  words,  which  give  the  style  an  antique  turn,  and  (4)  in 
deliberate  oddness  of  phrasing.  Of  the  first  of  these  good  exam- 
ples are  :  "  I  found  that  1  had  what  they  call  fallen  in  life  "  (49,  9), 
"  To  the  saloon  passengers  also  I  sustained  my  part  without  a  hitch  " 


Personal  Experience  and  Review  255 

(51,  i),  "my  humble  rig"  (17),  "as  the  talk  went  on"  (52,  19), 
"  I  do  not  hear  enough,  in  economy  books,  of  pies  and  pudding  " 
(63,  9),  and  many  other  like  instances,  which  are  apt,  because 
numerous  and  not  specially  striking. 

More  noticeable  is  Stevenson's  trick  of  pairing  words.  The  num- 
ber of  instances  is  great  in  which  he  uses  two  nouns  or  adjectives 
where  one  would  ordinarily,  and  in  another  writer,  have  answered. 
Cases  of  this  doubling  are  "success  and  verisimilitude"  (49,  10), 
"readily  and  naturally"  (50,  6),  "character  and  experience"  (17), 
"a  certain  shock  of  surprise  and  a  sense  of  something  wanting" 
(51,  18),  "familiarity  and  breadth  of  humorous  intention"  (53,  7), 
"jeered  and  flouted"  (22),  "lightly  and  naturally"  (28),  "gentle 
and  becoming"  (54,  22),  "relation  and  grade  of  society  "  (55,  26), 
"refreshed  and  solemn"  (57,  10),  "necessity  and  nature"  (62,  22), 
and  the  like.  The  habit  is  so  persistent  that  when  we  come  across  a 
triplication  of  words,  such  as  "improvident  and  idle  and  debauched" 
(58,  18),  we  at  once  notice  the  unusual  combination. 

The  third  point,  new  combinations  of  common  words,  with  a 
slightly  antique  turn,  is  rather  more  subtile.  Several  of  the  fore- 
going citations,  such  as  "  familiarity  and  breadth  of  humorous  in- 
tention" and  "refreshed  and  solem.n,"  illustrate  this  point.  Other 
cases  are :  "  there  was  no  recognition  in  their  eye,  although  I  con- 
fess I  sometimes  courted  it  in  silence"  (51,  4),  "a  mere  common, 
human  man"  (7),  "the  well-regulated  female  eye"  (52,  3),  "an 
elderly  managing  woman  hailed  me  with  counsels"  (17),  "ambi- 
tious hope"  (54,  29),  "my  habit  of  a  different  society "  (55,  2), 
and  the  like.  In  the  same  category  are  to  be  placed  such 
common  words  as  " pre-occupied "  (54,  11),  "currency"  (55,  30), 
"effrontery"  (60,  6),  in  which  the  original  source  and  meaning  of 
the  word  combine  with  the  common  meaning  to  give  it  distinction. 
So  Stevenson,  with  nearer  approach  to  a  pun,  says  in  Across  the 
Plains^  "  The  two  withdrew  to  the  bar,  where  I  presume  the  debt 
was  liquidated."  1 

The  fourth  point,  deliberate  oddness  of  phrasing,  is  less  impor- 
tant. One  gets  hints  of  it  in  every  paragraph,  and  it  is  noticeable 
in  such  lines  as  "  full  to  the  brim  of  molasses  "  (54,  8),  "  by  conse- 
quence" (57,  23;  compare  "in  consequence,"  59,  15,  23),  "verg- 

1  Cited  by  Professor  Walter  Raleigh  :  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  p.  36. 


256  Notes 

ing  to  its  lowest  terms"  (64,  9),  instead  of  "verging  on"  or 
"toward."  More  striking  are,  of  course,  "out  of  myself  in  diet, 
associates,  and  consideration"  (49,  5),  "absolute  success  and  veri- 
similitude" (10),  and  one  or  two  other  phrases,  in  which  Stevenson 
has  pushed  his  practice  so  far  as  to  render  his  meaning  obscure. 

These  characteristics  may  be  seen  in  compact  space  in  para- 
graph XIV.  Note  such  phrases  as  "broken  bones"  (60,  11), 
instead  of  the  more  common  and  more  specific  "  broken  legs  "  or 
"  broken  arms  "  ;  "  engaged  upon  a  roof"  (16)  instead  of  "  engaged 
in  working  upon  a  roof"  ;  "taken  with  a  fancy  for  the  pubHc  house" 
(17);  "advertised  of  their  defection"  (22);  "the  career  of  the 
tapper"  (22),  an  apt  word  here;  "industrious  bustle"  (24);  "earned 
his  money  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow"  (28);  " sexduplicate  his 
single  personality  "  (30),  a  coinage  of  Stevenson's  ( ?)  ;  "  swell 
and  hasten  his  blows"  (30);  and  the  remainder  of  the  sentence. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  freshness  and  individuality,  compare 
the  following  passage,  in  which  the  significant  words  have  been 
italicised : 

"Our  American  sunrise  had  ushered  in  a  noble  summer's  day. 
There  was  not  a  cloud  ;  the  sunshine  was  baking ;  yet  in  the  woody 
river  valleys  among  which  we  wound  our  way,  the  atmosphere  pre- 
served a  sparkling  freshness  till  late  in  the  afternoon.  It  had  an 
inland  sweetness  and  variety  to  one  newly  from  the  sea ;  it  smelt  of 
woods,  rivers,  and  the  delved  earth.  These,  though  in  so  far  a 
country^  were  airs  frojfi  home.  I  stood  on  the  platform  by  the 
hour ;  and  as  I  saw,  one  after  another,  pleasant  villages^  carts  upon 
the  highway^  and  fishers  by  the  stream^  and  heard  cockcrows  and 
cheery  voices  in  the  distance,  and  beheld  the  sun,  no  longer  shining 
blankly  on  the  plains  of  the  oceati,  but  striking  among  shapely  hills 
and  his  light  dispersed  and  coloured  by  a  thousand  accidents  of  form 
and  surface,  I  began  to  exult  with  jny self  m^ow  this  rise  in  life  like 
a  man  who  had  come  into  a  rich  estate.  And  when  I  had  asked  the 
name  of  a  river  from  the  brakes7nan,  and  heard  that  it  was  called 
the  Susquehanna,  the  beauty  of  the  name  seemed  to  be  part  and 
parcel  of  the  beauty  of  the  land.  As  when  Adam  with  divine  fitness 
named  the  creatures,  so  this  word  Susquehanna  was  at  once  accepted 
by  the  fancy.  That  was  the  name,  as  no  other  could  be,  for  that 
shining  river  and  desirable  valley.'*'*  —  Stevenson :  Across  the  Plai?is, 
(p.  10,  Scribner's,  1895). 


Personal  Experiefice  a7td  Review  257 

In  this  connection  compare  Stevenson's  own  statement  of  his 
practice :  "  .  .  .  I  always  kept  two  books  in  my  pocket,  one  to 
read,  one  to  write  in.  As  I  walked,  my  mind  was  busy  fitting  what 
I  saw  with  appropriate  words ;  when  I  sat  by  the  roadside,  I  would 
either  read,  or  a  pencil  and  penny  version-book  would  be  in  my 
hand,  to  note  down  the  features  of  the  scene  or  to  commemorate 
some  halting  stanzas."  —  A  College  Magazine.,  I. 

B.  Sentences.  —  Certain  of  these  qualities  —  simplicity,  deliberate- 
ness,  and  the  antique  touch  —  are  due  also  to  the  sentences.  In  these 
the  most  notable  fact  is  the  use  of  "  and  "  (or  "  but ")  after  a  strong 
pause  —  a  colon,  or  a  semicolon.  Thus,  in  the  first  two  paragraphs, 
which  together  contain  eleven  sentences,  six  (49,  i,  3,  and  50,  2,  12, 
22,  28)  contain  this  construction,  and  there  is  one  case  (50,  7)  of 
the  same  construction  after  a  comma.  In  the  rest  of  the  chapter  the 
trick,  though  not  so  obtrusive,  is  obvious.  The  effect  produced  is 
one  of  slowness  and  deliberation ;  the  numerous  simple  or  only 
slightly  complex  sentences  thus  made  compound  prevent  any  word 
from  standing  out  with  great  abruptness.  The  same  effect  is  pro- 
duced by  such  connectives  as  "  for  "  (51,  17,  52,  6,  etc.),  and  in  com- 
binations of  words,  as  "improvident  and  idle  and  debauched"  (58, 
18),  by  the  same  connectives.  There  is  no  hurry ;  each  word,  each 
phrase,  each  sentence,  seems  to  be  weighed  and  put  carefully  down. 
In  general,  it  will  be  noted  that  the  connectives  are  simple,  few  in 
number,  and  oft-repeated. 

A  good  example  of  all  this  is  the  notable  fourteenth  paragraph. 
Stevenson  says  not,  "  I  give  this  story  as  it  was  told  me  for  a  fact," 
but,  "  I  give  the  story  as  it  was  told  me,  and  it  was  told  me  for  a 
fact "  ;  not,  "  A  man  who  fell  from  a  housetop  in  the  city  of  Aberdeen 
was  brought  into  the  hospital  with  broken  bones,"  but  "  A  man  fell 
.  .  .  and  was  brought  .  .  .  "  ;  not  "  When  asked  what  was  his  trade, 
he  replied  that  he  was  a  tapper^"*  but  "He  was  asked  .  .  .  and 
replied  .  .  .";  and  so  on.  Sentences  6  (60,  18)  and  10  (28) 
are  examples  of  a  less  striking  sort  of  the  same  effect.  In  contrast 
to  this,  it  should  be  observed  that  whenever  Stevenson  wishes  a 
more  rapid  movement,  he  drops  his  connective,  as  in  line  14,  and 
when  subordination  is  unavoidable,  as  in  15,  he  returns  to  the  more 
modern  and  logical  construction  ;  indeed,  these  exceptions  strengthen 
the  effect  of  his  usual  practice  by  relieving  monotony. 

The  same  effect  of  deliberation  is  probably  due  in  part  to  a  mod- 
s 


258  Notes 

erately  frequent  redundancy  in  wording.  Such  words  as  "it  ap- 
peared" (51,  20),  "It  was  .  .  .  that"  (52,  8),  "as  it  seems  to  me" 
(58,  7),  "  It  is  .  .  .  that"  (59,  4),  and  the  like,  are  perhaps  logically 
unnecessary,  but  let  them  be  stricken  out  of  the  essay,  and  the 
increased  choppiness  and  briskness  will  be  evident.  This  quality 
seems  to  suggest  a  desire  on  Stevenson's  part  to  keep  the  emphasis 
from  receiving  any  such  great  prominence  as  is  fitting  and  effective 
in  Froude's  narrative.  When  we  come  across  such  short  sentences 
as  "The  result  was  curious"  (51,  13),  "It  must  be  a  strange  sight 
from  an  upper  window"  (61,  4),  "They  mark  time  instead  of 
marching"  (62,  11),  the  difference  in  incisiveness  is  very  notice- 
able, as  is  the  pomposity  of  such  a  sentence  as  "  To  be  politically 
blind  is  no  distinction  "  (58,  6) . 

In  this  place  it  is  interesting  to  note  the  evenness  of  length  of 
Stevenson's  sentences  as  they  appear  averaged  by  paragraphs. 
The  figures  for  the  eighteen  paragraphs  are:  23.66,  33.12,  19.50, 
33.33,  22.33,  I7»  20.33,  22.44,  25.37,  23.91,  45.20,  29,  24.20, 
22.82,  18.22,  27.62,  30.60,  28.30,  a  total  average  of  25.28,  from 
which  only  one  paragraph,  XI.,  shows  marked  variation.  In  no 
writer  whom  we  consider  in  the  present  volume  is  there  such  uni- 
formity. Does  the  fact  seem  in  keeping  with  the  evenness  of  tone 
which  Stevenson  throughout  preserves? 

III.  Summary  and  Suggestions.  —  The  foregoing  analysis  shows 
the  chief  characteristics  of  Stevenson's  style.  The  student  would 
do  well  to  test  the  results  in  other  ways,  of  which  the  most  signifi- 
cant would  be  the  rewriting  of  one  of  Stevenson's  paragraphs,  with 
a  change  to  more  logical  or  commonplace  arrangement  of  the  sen- 
tences; for  the  words  can  hardly  be  laid  hands  on.  Mechanical 
tests  are,  of  course,  feasible ;  and  comparison  with  the  technique  of 
other  authors  will  serve  to  define  one's  impressions. 

The  present  selection  is  valuable  as  a  starting-point  in  the  study 
of  Stevenson's  style.  The  quality  is  here  more  obvious,  more  con- 
stant, more  easy  of  analysis,  than  that  of  many  of  Stevenson's  better 
known  essays  and  causeries,  such  as  The  English  Adptirals  and 
The  Lantern- Bearers.  In  these  essays  many  of  the  same  phenomena 
which  we  have  here  observed,  however,  give  to  his  style  its  peculiar 
tone ;  but  they  are  even  more  fine-drawn,  more  delicately  poised, 
more  evasive. 


Macaulay  259 


III.    MACAULAY 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Style.  —  We  have  seen  (p.  210)  the  circum- 
stances under  which  Mr.  Morley  wrote  the  present  essay,  and  the 
audience,  the  public,  whom  he  addressed ;  and  we  have  seen  how, 
by  means  of  his  structure,  he  tried  to  make  his  line  of  thought  clear, 
and  to  force  his  meaning  home.  We  may  accordingly  regard  the 
present  essay  as  addressed  to  a  rather  better  defined  public  than 
either  of  the  two  preceding.  Our  task  is,  then,  chiefly  to  see  how 
Mr.  Morley  handles  the  technique  of  style  in  order  to  make  his 
ideas  forcible  and  interesting  to  his  readers. 

II.  Technique  of  the  Style.  —  A.  Words.  — The  copiousness  and 
range  of  Mr.  Morley's  vocabulary  are  obviously  the  qualities  which 
first  strike  the  reader.  One  must,  from  the  outset,  be  sensible  of 
the  number  of  the  words,  the  fulness  of  the  diction,  and  the  readi- 
ness with  which  it  is  applied.  Specific  instances  to  prove  this  need 
not  be  cited ;  it  is  enough  to  say  that  the  author  rarely  uses  the 
same  word,  aside  from  the  auxiliaries  and  connectives,  twice  on 
a  page.  These  qualities  keep  the  essay  from  becoming  dull  and 
tiresome,  but  they  demand  more  minute  analysis.  We  shall  find, 
then,  that  the  principal  sources  of  power  in  the  vocabulary  are 
reducible  to  the  following  five  heads,  which  are  arranged  in  order 
of  importance :  (i)  the  splitting  of  an  idea  into  certain  component 
parts  with  as  much  specificness  of  treatment  as  the  general  nature 
of  the  essay  will  allow  —  in  other  words,  the  quasi-descriptive 
colouring  given  to  an  idea ;  (2)  figures  of  speech  and  illustration ; 
(3)  the  large  number  of  paired  words ;  (4)  the  accuracy  of  use  and 
double  value  of  words;  (5)  quotation.  Certain  of  these  good 
qualities  are  not  infrequently  pushed  to  excess  and  detract  from  the 
permanent  value  of  the  style. 

I .  Throughout  the  essay  the  amplification  by  the  specifying  of 
several  ideas  instead  of  one  more  general  idea  is  evident.  Thus  at 
the  start  we  are  told  not  that  Strafford  would  formulate  some  notion 
"  of  the  ideas  that  he  already  had  on  the  subject  of  the  book,"  etc., 
but  that  "  he  would  call  for  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  then  proceed  to 
write  down  upon  it  some  sketch  of  the  ideas  ..."  (65,  12);  and 
66,  10-13,  is  another  example  in  point.  So,  too,  we  are  told  to  "  ask 
ourselves  "  not  what  place  Macaulay  has  in  English  literature,  but 


26o  Notes 

"  to  what  place  he  has  a  claim  among  the  forces  of  English  litera- 
ture" (66,  1 8).  Better  examples  are  69,  3-6;  82,  2-5  ;  83,  22-27; 
87, 14-25.  A  student  should  look  with  care  through  the  essay  to 
note  the  number  and  variety  of  such  phrases.  Do  they,  in  general, 
seem  to  add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  essay  and  hence  to  its 
force?  Compare  the  effect  with  a  similar  one  in  Froude.  Are  there 
noticeable  also,  as  closely  akin  in  effect  to  these  longer  quotations, 
many  instances  of  single  specific  words  ?  Compare,  in  the  passage 
last  referred  to,  "blue  foolscap,"  "periods,"  "sentences,"  "  phrases," 
and  the  single- word  metaphors,  "  buried,"  "  scouring,"  "  dashing," 
"  barbing  "  ;  and  in  general,  such  phrases  as  "  the  ninety  volumes  of 
Voltaire"  (67,  18),  "threshold"  (68,  3),  "the  four  magic  strings" 
(96,  29). 

2.  It  is  hard  in  many  of  the  foregoing  cases  to  distinguish  the 
line  at  which  literal  specificness  passes  over  into  the  region  of  tropes. 
The  figures  of  speech  and  the  companion  illustrations  in  the  essay 
are  very  abundant.  To  take  of  this  class  the  phenomena  which  we 
first  meet  —  illustration.  At  the  very  start  it  is  seen  in  the  quota- 
tion from  Gibbon  and  the  example  of  Strafford ;  the  position  is 
seductive.  More  striking,  perhaps  the  most  striking  illustration  in 
the  entire  essay,  is  the  "  imaginary  case  of  banishment  to  a  desert 
island"  (67,  4),  and  the  following  out  of  that  to  the  bottom  of  the 
page,  and  its  continuation  in  the  experience  of  the  Australian 
traveller.  Other  good  examples  —  they  are  too  long  to  quote  —  are 
83,  18-22  ;  84,  4-7  ;  85,  16-20.  It  is  important  to  determine  what 
part  these  play  in  the  essay.  Are  they  necessary  for  clearness  or 
are  they  used  entirely  for  force  ? 

The  figures  of  speech  proper  are  obviously  very  numerous.  These 
may  be  roughly  divided  into  two  classes  —  the  long-sustained  meta- 
phors and  similes,  and  the  short  single-word  metaphors.  A  good 
example  of  the  first  sort  is,  "  with  as  few  notes  in  his  register,  to 
borrow  a  phrase  from  the  language  of  vocal  compass,  as  there  are  few 
notes,  though  they  are  very  loud,  in  the  register  of  his  written  prose  " 
(85,  9),  and  other  cases  are  77,  25-30;  84,  7-14;  87,  25-30;  96, 
25-30;  106,  i-io.  Examples  of  the  simple,  short  metaphors  are 
"refreshment"  (67,  7),  "tempered  phrases"  (71,  15),  "distinct 
literary  force"  (72,  10),  "shining  words  and  many-coloured  com- 
plexities" (78,  10),  "the  poise  of  truth"  (91,  13),  "scolding  pre- 
cision" (93,  lo),  "stamping  emphasis"  (100,  12);  and  there  are 


Macau  lay  261 

many  others  which  the  student  should  look  for.  The  number  of 
these  is  very  large ;  to  gain  some  idea  of  their  significance  one  or 
two  questions  may  be  asked.  Do  you  notice  in  the  course  of  the 
essay  any  increase  in  the  number  of  metaphors,  both  long  and  short? 
Do  the  longer  figures  seem  to  be  used  to  render  a  passage  clear,  or 
for  the  sake  of  force?  Is  the  same  observation  true  of  the  shorter 
figures  ?  Do  any  of  the  metaphors  seem  old,  worn,  and,  so  to  speak, 
crystallized?  Does  the  effect  of  the  metaphors  on  the  style  of  the 
whole  essay  come  the  more  from  the  vividness  of  individual  words 
or  from  the  large  number?  Do  you  notice,  as  in  XXIII.,  any  super- 
fluity of  figurative  language,  or  any  incongruity  in  the  imagery? 
Has  Mr.  Morley,  to  use  his  own  words,  been  "  betrayed  into  "  too 
many  phrases  "  of  happy  improvisation  "?  Compare,  from  the  same 
point  of  view,  the  following  passage  from  the  same  pen  : 

"...  Robespierre's  style  had  no  richness  either  of  feeling  or  of 
phrase  ;  no  fervid  originality,  no  happy  violences.  If  we  turn  from 
a  page  of  Rousseau  to  a  page  of  Robespierre,  we  feel  that  the  disci- 
ple has  none  of  the  thrilling  sonorousness  of  the  master ;  the  glow 
and  the  ardour  have  become  metallic ;  the  long-drawn  plangency  is 
parodied  by  shrill  notes  of  splenetic  complaint.  The  rhythm  has 
no  broad  wings ;  the  phrases  have  no  quality  of  radiance ;  the  ora- 
torical glimpses  never  lift  the  spirit  into  new  worlds.  We  are  never 
conscious  of  those  great  pulses  of  strong  emotion  that  shake  and 
vibrate  through  the  nobly  measured  periods  of  Cicero  or  Bossuet  or 
Burke.  .  .   ." — Robespierre  {Critical Miscellanies,!.  \>.  ^^^. 

3.  We  have  previously  seen  (p.  255),  in  dealing  with  Stevenson's 
style,  the  effect  of  the  pairing  of  words.  The  same  practice  is  to  be 
seen  here:  "clearness  and  reality"  (66,  6),  "a  right  place  and  an 
independent  shape"  (7),  "significance  or  value"  (16),  "a  depressed 
and  dolorous  spirit"  (67,  14),  "power  and  vigour"  (70,  18),  "unc- 
tion and  edification"  (71,  21),  and  many  others,  are  cases  where 
one  word  might  have  answered  the  purposes.  It  is  obvious  that  the 
doubling  of  words  greatly  increases  the  size  of  the  vocabulary.  In 
the  present  essay,  however,  is  this  doubling  less  characteristic  than 
with  Stevenson?  In  other  words,  when  three  or  four  words  are 
used,  are  you  sensible  of  any  great  departure  from  the  prevailing 
"  type  and  mould  "  of  diction  ?  Is  the  effect  produced  by  pairing 
in  any  way  similar  to  that  of  the  phenomena  which  we  have  ob- 
served under  i  (p.  259)  ? 


262  Notes 

4.  What  has  been  said  under  the  three  foregoing  heads  may 
prejudice  a  reader  in  the  belief  that  Mr.  Morley  uses  words  with 
readiness  and  haste  rather  than  accuracy,  and  such  words  as  "cher- 
ished and  held"  (86,  i),  "size"  (13),  "perspective,"  "momentum" 
and  "edification"  (14)  may  confirm  that  opinion.  Yet  the  words 
are  often  chosen  with  a  sense  for  value  and  are  more  than  mere 
conventions;  "momentous"  (67,  9),  "substantive  and  organic" 
(70, 14),  "accident"  (71,9),  "assiduous"  (26), "essentially"  (91,8), 
are  cases  in  point.     In  each  case,  what  is  the  exact  force  of  the  word  ? 

5.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  call  attention  specifically  to  the 
amount  of  direct  quotation  which  Mr.  Morley  employs.  We  have 
seen  the  same  phenomenon  in  Froude.  Under  this  head,  however, 
is  included  those  unacknowledged  quotations, —  characteristic,  as 
we  shall  see  later  on,  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  style,  —  which  are  really 
common  property.  Compare  with  "thrice  and  four  times  enviable 
panegyric"  (73,  10)  the  lines  from  Macaulay's  Horatius, 

"  And  thrice  and  four  times  tugged  amain 
Ere  he  wrenched  out  the  steel," 

and  with  "dreamt  of  in  his  professed  philosophy"  (81,  10),  Hamlet 
I.  V.  167  (Gtode  Edition).  The  fact  that  Mr.  Morley  takes  from 
Macaulay's  History  a  long  passage  has  already  been  referred  to  (83, 
footnote  11).  As  usual,  the  point  to  determine  is  this:  —  What 
effect  have  these  passages,  and  passages  such  as  these,  on  the  vivid- 
ness and  picturesqueness  of  the  style  ?  Are  they  liiply  to  catch  a 
reader's  attention  ? 

A  word  must  be  added  in  regard  to  some  of  the  defects  of  Mr. 
Morley's  vocabulary.  These  defects  spring  out  of  the  good  qualities 
and  are  the  excess  of  them.  Thus,  as  we  have  seen,  the  copious- 
ness and  fluency  of  the  figurative  language  is  often  too  exuberant, 
often  degenerates  into  mixed  metaphor.  Less  conspicuous,  but 
still  evident,  are  other  defects  which  we  have  touched  on,  (i)  the 
lack  of  simplicity  and  the  consequent  obscurity,  (2)  some  redun- 
dancy, and  (3)  a  good  deal  of  stereotyping  of  phrase.  These  defects 
need  not,  however,  be  analyzed  in  detail ;  for  the  purpose  here  has 
been  to  see  how  Mr.  Morley  gains  the  very  evident  eflfect  which  he 
produces  —  the  power  to  hold  a  reader  and  to  ward  off  tediousness  — 
and  this,  as  we  have  seen,  is,  in  a  large  measure,  due  to  the  range, 
variety,  spontaneity,  and  allusiveness  of  his  vocabulary. 


Macaiday  263 

B.  Sentences.  —  The  sentences  are  of  less  significance  than  the 
words,  but  several  points  need  to  be  noted.  Comparing  them  with 
those  of  Froude  and  Stevenson,  one  feels  the  fulness  of  the  word- 
ing ;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  average  length  of  sentence  is  nine 
or  ten  words  greater  than  in  either  of  the  preceding  essays  (34.68 
as  against  24.58  and  25.28,  respectively).  This  greater  length 
arises,  no  doubt,  from  the  large  number  of  doubled  and  parallel 
words  ;  but  it  is  sometimes  due  to  pleonasm  pure  and  simple.  An 
example  of  this  is  the  second  sentence  (65,  11),  which  could  have 
been  shortened  by  twenty-three  words,  with  little  loss  to  the  mean- 
ing, as  follows  :  "  [It  is  also  told  of]  Strafford  [that]  before  reading 
any  book  [for  the  first  time,  he]  would  [call  for  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  then  proceed  to]  write  down  [upon  it]  some  sketch  of  the  ideas 
that  he  already  had  upon  the  subject  of  the  book,  and  of  the 
questions  that  he  expected  to  find  answered."  The  pleonasm,  in 
this  instance,  may  be  warranted  on  the  ground  of  picturesqueness, 
which,  we  have  seen,  is  one  of  Mr.  Morley's  aims.  Can  it  also  be 
explained  by  the  desire  on  Mr.  Morley's  part  to  lead  on  his  reader, 
by  a  leisurely  opening,  to  the  more  important  parts  of  the  essay  ? 
In  determining  this  point,  is  the  fact  that  the  average  sentence 
length  (51.66)  of  the  paragraph  is  greater  than  that  in  any  para- 
graphs, except  XVII.  (61)  and  XXVI.  (54.44),  in  any  way  signifi- 
cant? Are  any  other  cases  of  redundancy  to  be  explained  on 
similar  grounds.? 

Keeping  closely,  however,  to  the  purpose  of  our  examination  of 
the  sentences  —  their  efiect  in  warding  oflf  tediousness  and  mo- 
notony—  we  may  pursue  the  analysis  under  four  heads:  (i)  the 
variety  in  form  of  the  sentences;  (2)  their  balance;  (3)  the  swing 
and  cadence ;  and  (4)  the  compactness  and  emphasis. 

1.  The  variety  is  obvious.  In  dealing  with  Froude  and  Stevenson, 
we  have  seen  a  recurring  simplicity  and  similarity  in  sentence 
structure,  but  such  is  not  the  case  here.  This  variety  may  be 
brought  out  by  the  following  questions :  Are  there,  on  any  one 
page,  two  sentences,  with  the  exception  of  such  simple  sentences  as 
92,  8,  9,  which  are  built  on  the  same  plan  ?  Can  you  say,  as  was 
possible  with  Froude  and  Stevenson,  that  there  is  a  prevailing  type 
of  sentence? 

2.  The  number  of  balanced  sentences  {cf.  Rhetoric,  pp.  108,  109) 
is  large.    We  have  seen  in  the  structure  of  the  essay  {cf.  p.  221, 


264 


Notes 


note  to  91,  XXL,  12)  that  Mr.  Morley  frequently  moves  his  para- 
graphs by  a  series  of  antitheses  ;  and  the  pairing  of  words  hints  at  a 
pleasure,  on  his  part,  in  parallels  and  contrasts.  Examples  of  the  bal- 
anced sentences  are  66, 3  ;  67, 9, 14 ;  68, 12  ;  72,  25,  29  ;  and  78,  19 ; 
and  69,  24,  may  be  taken  as  an  illustration  for  analysis.  There  are 
three  parallel  members  each  beginning  with  "  if."  In  each  of  these 
Mill  is  placed  in  antithesis  with  Macaulay,  who,  being  for  the 
present  purpose  the  more  important  man,  is  put  in  the  main  clause. 
The  balance  of  word  with  word  may  be  thus  pointed  out : 


I. 

First  clause  —  Mill 

Second  clause  —  Macaulay 

{subordinate) 

{principal^ 

1 .  taught 

2.  some  of  them 

I'. 

2'. 

tempted 
more  of  them 

3.     reason 

3'. 

declaim 

II. 

I .     Set  an  example 
2   (patience  |_ 
\  tolerance  S 

I'. 

2'. 

did  much  to  encourage 
oracular  arrogance 

3.     fair  examination  of 

3'. 

a  rather  too  thrasonical 

hostile  opinions 

complacency 

III. 

I.     sowed  ideas  of 

I'. 

trained  a  taste  for 

2.  great  economic' 

3.  political 

4.  moral 

bearings 
of  the 

forces  of 
society. 

2'. 
3'- 

4'. 

superficial  particularities 
trivial  circumstantialities 

of  local  colour 
all  the  paraphernalia  of 

the  pseudo-picturesque 

The  example  is  rather  exceptional ;  but  the  points  to  be  deter- 
mined by  the  student  are  how  far  the  instance  is  in  keeping  with 
the  style  of  the  rest  of  the  paragraph  and  the  essay  as  a  whole,  and 
how  the  sentence  is  so  varied  as  to  keep  the  antitheses  from 
edginess  and  monotony. 

3.  The  subject-matter  of  XXV.  and  the  quotations  from  Claren- 
don and  Burke  and  that  from  Southey  in  the  following  paragraph 
suggest  an  inquiry  into  the  rhythm  and  harmony  of  Mr.  Morley's 
sentences.  If  we  examine  the  three  passages  referred  to,  —  and 
Mr.  Morley  has  aptly  chosen  them  to  illustrate  the  principle  on 


Macaulay  265 

which  he  is  insisting,  —  we  shall  find  that  the  beauty  of  sound  of 
Clarendon's  prose  comes,  roughly  speaking,  from  recurring  pairs  of 
harmonious  words,  each  pair  of  which  is  usually  preceded  by  an  ad- 
jective and  followed  by  a  noun  with  "of"  or  "to,"  e.g.  "of  that 
primitive  simplicity  and  integrity  of  life "  (98,  2)  ;  that  from  Burke 
on  parallel  phrases  and  sentences  of  varying  length ;  that  from 
Southey  on  the  doubling  and  the  parallelism  both,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  recurrence  of  the  same  sound.  It  is  worth  while  to  see  if  the 
ready  and  frequent  doubling  of  phrases  in  the  present  essay  —  that 
characteristic  trick  —  give  like  effects.  Almost  any  paragraph  is 
good  as  an  example,  but  in  XIV.  the  swing  of  the  sentence  is  par- 
ticularly noticeable.  The  most  ready  test  to  apply  is  to  read  a  few 
sentences  aloud  to  note  whether  they  read  with  smoothness  and 
variety.  Another  test  is  to  destroy  the  pairing  of  the  words  to 
ascertain  if  the  passages  sound  so  smoothly  as  at  present. 

4.  Lastly,  in  regard  to  the  emphasis  of  the  sentences  {cf.  Rhetoric^ 
pp.  139-142),  the  student  should  note  whether  the  words  at  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  each  sentence  serve  not  only  to  show  the 
connection  of  thought,  but  also  to  throw  the  idea  into  sharp  relief. 
Take  67  as  an  example :  are  "  That  Macaulay  comes  "  (i),  "  is  quite 
certain"  (3),  "whom"  (8),  "momentous  post"  (9),  "clearly"  (9), 
"Englishmen"  (14),  "Germans"  (16),  "a  sensible  Frenchman" 
(17),." Shakespeare"  (16),  "Goethe"  (17),  "Voltaire"  (18),  "two 
authors"  (21),  "popular  preference"  (22),  the  important  words? 
Should  not  "the  object  of  a  second  choice  "  (19)  be  exhumed  from 
the  middle  of  the  sentence  ?  Or,  again,  spread  out  such  a  sentence 
as  66,  19-23,  into  four  simple  declarative  sentences,  and  note  the 
loss  to  compactness  and  proportion.  Note,  too,  in  the  last  exam- 
ple, the  emphasis  of  the  clause  "  It  is  seventeen  years  since  he 
died."  What  would  have  been  the  effect  had  the  clause  been  made 
subordinate  with,  say,  "  since  "  ?  The  student  should  examine  other 
parts  of  the  essay  from  this  point  of  view. 

III.  Summary  and  Suggestions.  —  A  student  might  do  well  to 
test  some  of  these  results  by  process  of  figuring,  to  ascertain  with 
juster  sense  the  proportion  which  each  of  these  causes  bears  to  the 
result.  Again,  some  of  the  defects  of  the  style,  which  lie  apart  from 
the  purpose  of  the  present  analysis,  ought  to  be  looked  into  to  aid 
in  determining  questions  as  to  the  uses  and  limitations  of  such 
a  style  as  Mr.  Morley's,  its  fitness  for  certain  conditions  and  kinds 


266  Notes 

of  material.  Moreover,  the  fact  that  Mr.  Morley,  using  for  the 
whole  essay  an  average  of  27.02  per  cent  of  foreign  words  (not 
including  proper  names  and  quotation),  runs  with  some  uniformity 
from  21.12  in  I.  to  33.78  in  XX.  and  back  to  26.40  in  XXIX. 
might  show  an  interesting  fact  with  regard  to  Mr.  Morley's  men- 
tal and  stylistic  stride  as  he  warms  up  to  his  work.  These,  how- 
ever, are  suggestions  for  an  advanced  student ;  for  the  beginner  the 
object  is,  through  a  rough  and  not  too  minute  analysis,  to  develop 
a  feeling  for  style. 

IV.   ON   THE   STUDY   OF   CELTIC   LITERATURE 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Style.  —  The  present  selection  may  be  treated 
rather  more  summarily  than  the  three  preceding  essays,  for  the 
reasons  that  (i)  a  student,  from  his  previous  study,  may  be  supposed 
able  with  greater  ease  to  analyze  style,  and  that  (2)  the  similarity  of 
Arnold's  style  to  his  structure  is  much  closer  than  in  any  other  essay 
that  we  have  heretofore  seen.  Arnold  made  it  his  constant  aim 
{cf.  p.  224)  to  give  his  idea  a  clear  treatment,  a  full  treatment,  and, 
above  all,  a  treatment  the  fairness  of  which  no  one  would  dream  of 
questioning;  his  chief  motive  was,  in  his  own  words,  "a  disinter- 
ested endeavour  to  learn  and  propagate  the  best  that  is  known  and 
thought  in  the  world."  One  would  expect,  accordingly,  to  find 
Arnold's  style  notable  for  clearness,  lucidity,  and  cautiousness ;  and 
if,  as  a  matter  of  impression,  other  qualities  are  present  they  may  be 
disregarded  in  the  following  treatment. 

II.  Technique  of  the  Style.  —  A.  Words.  —  Deliberate  and  careful 
selection  and  definition  of  words  is  the  most  obvious  principle  of 
Arnold's  vocabulary.  This  is  the  main,  the  only  vital  point  to  con- 
sider ;  questions  of  size  of  vocabulary,  range,  derivation,  specificness, 
and  the  like  may  be  left  as  understudies  for  the  student  to  solve 
at  his  leisure.  This  care  is  shown  in  the  following  ways,  which  are 
stated  not  in  the  order  of  prominence  but  as  they  follow  from  one 
another:  (i)  accuracy  of  denotation  {cf.  Rhetoric^  p.  191)  in  all  im- 
portant words,  as  in  the  nouns  "race"  (108,  2),  "nations"  (13), 
"contact  and  mixture"  (19),  the  verbs  "to  oppose"  (22),  "to  com- 
municate" (23),  the  adjectives  "formed,  marked,  national,  ineflTace- 
able"  (21),  the  adverb  "essentially"  (111,  18),  and  the  like;  (2) 
the  added  sharpness  of  definition  which  each  extra  word  gives,  as 


On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature  267 

"grown  and  solidified"  (108,  15),  "  deliberate  wholesale  extermina- 
tion "  (111,  2),  "  laws,  manners,  language  "  (14.  — Why  the  order  ? 
Cf.  16  and  20)  ;  (3)  the  contrasts  between  words,  as  "  plainness  and 
homeliness"  (117,  12)  with  "beauty  and  distinction"  (13)  ;  (4)  the 
very  frequent  li-miting  and  narrowing  down  to  exactness  of  the 
idea  as  by  the  phrases  "even  if  proved"  (108,  3),  "indeed"  (7), 
"at  least  "  (9),  "for  Celt  and  Teuton,"  etc.  (21)  ;  (5)  the  preparing 
for  any  unusual  word  or  figure,  as  in  "  so  to  speak,  underground  lot " 
(111,  8),  "  in  a  word,  scietice  "  (117,  8),  and  the  like ;  (6)  the  illus- 
tration, as  in  "France,  for  instance,  and  Italy"  (109,  23)  ;  and  (7), 
to  which  these  are  the  prelude,  the  repetition  of  any  phrases,  once 
carefully  chosen  and  narrowed  down,  such  as  "  embryo"  (108,  9,  15, 
etc.),  "crystallized"  (29,  30),  and  especially  the  longer  and  more 
important  words  and  phrases  round  which  each  section  and  each 
paragraph  revolve,  as  "energy  with  honesty"  (116,  22),  "senti- 
mental" (120,  21).  Compare  for  the  same  effect,  more  conspicu- 
ously wrought  out,  pages  228,  229,  and  231-233  of  the  notes. 

One  or  two  questions  may,  from  a  slightly  different  point  of  view, 
serve  to  show  how  Arnold'strives  constantly  to  keep  the  style  from 
obscurity.  Do  you  note,  in  the  selection,  many  figures  of  speech, 
either  long  or  short,  as  "embryo"  {passim),  "province."  (110, 16), 
and  the  longer  metaphor  of  117,  9-1 1  ?  Is  the  effect  of  these  for 
force  or  for  clearness?  Do  you  note  any  descriptive  treatment  of 
ideas,  as  in  Macaulay  f  Compare  108,  8-14;  117,  12-28 ;  118,  19- 
120, 14 ;  124, 12-20  ; — should  you  say  that  there  is,  in  these  passages, 
any  attempt  to  attain  picturesqueness,  or  only,  through  illustration, 
clearness  of  idea  ?  Do  such  small  and  homely  words  as  "  ousted  " 
(109,  23),  "clean  gone"  (113,  28),  "out  at  elbows"  (123,  20), 
"fetch  a  very  wide  circuit"  (131,  16),  occur  in  places  where  they 
can  be  not  only  clear  but  forcible  as  well  ? 

B.  Sentences.  —  Arnold's  sentences  are  long;  in  this  selection 
they  average  nearly  forty-three  words  (42.93).  This  fact  is  not  im- 
portant, for  it  merely  shows  that  Arnold  attempts  to  put  a  good 
deal  into  each  sentence ;  but  it  is  important  to  see  how  this  length 
comes  about.  Obviously  it  is  not  due  to  redundancy;  for  we  have 
seen  that  Arnold  is  very  cautious  in  his  choice  of  words  and  rarely 
introduces  a  word  which  does  not  add  to  his  meaning.  This 
length,  one  would  say,  is  chiefly  due  to  the  number  of  limitations 
and  repetitions ;    but   closer  analysis   will  show  that  it   is  due  to 


268  Notes 

the  principle  on  which  the  sentences  are  built  —  the  desire  so  to 
present  each  unit  of  thought  that  (i)  it  can  be  grasped  by  itself 
and  (2)  can  be  shown  in  its  relation  to  the  preceding  and  follow- 
ing ideas. 

To  gain  these  ends,  unity  and  coherence,  the  form  of  sentence 
which  Arnold  most  conspicuously  adopts  is  made  up  of  two  (or 
sometimes  three  and  four)  members,  the  first  of  which  states  in 
rather  general  terms,  chosen  with  reference  to  the  preceding  sen- 
tence, the  idea  of  the  sentence ;  and  the  last  of  which  repeats  this 
idea  in  more  specific  words.  This  is  really  the  same  device  which 
we  have  seen  in  the  structure  of  the  essay  (p.  227).  Take  two 
sentences,  109,  4-18,  as  an  example ;  they  may  be  expressed  thus : 
(i)  The  contact  between  Saxon  and  Briton  must  have  left  traces; 
(i  repeated)  there  must  be  some  trace  in  us  of  this  meeting;  (i 
specified)  there  must  be  some  Celtic  vein  in  us ;  (2)  many  people 
say  that  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind ;  (2  specified)  the  Saturday 
Review  says  that  it  is  vain  to  look  for  such  traces.  A  better  exam- 
ple is  IX.  icf.  Rhetoric,  p.  135),  in  which  nearly  every  sentence 
follows  this  type  —  two  clauses  separated  by  a  semicolon,  with  the 
connective  dropped.  It  is  as  if  Arnold  took  two  sentences,  the 
second  specifying  what  the  first  had  said  in  rather  general  terms, 
put  these  together,  and  inserted  a  semicolon  to  indicate  the  juncture. 
The  unity  of  each  sentence  is  excellent ;  the  idea  can  be  grasped  as 
a  whole  and  in  parts,  and  its  connection  with  the  main  idea  is 
always  plain.  The  statement  of  this  analysis  should  be  tested  by 
the  student  to  see  whether  the  type  of  sentence  is  constant ;  such 
cases  of  "  and  "  after  a  semicolon,  as  109,  28,  furnish  tests  by  way 
of  contrast. 

This  unity  is  the  main  point.  Another  factor  which  contributes 
to  clearness  is  Arnold's  peculiar  method  of  handling  the  emphasis 
of  his  sentences.  Arnold  delights  in  setting  out  his  important  idea, 
and  then  repeating  it  with  its  context.  Already  in  dealing  with 
structure  (p.  230,  note  to  120,  IX.  21),  we  have  observed  the  same 
trick  in  the  paragraphs ;  Arnold  places  his  emphatic  word  at  the 
head  of  the  paragraph,  and  develops  the  paragraph  round  that.  118, 
18  is  another  instance:  Arnold  emphasizes  his  idea  by  setting  out 
the  head  words  of  the  quotation,  "  For  dutness,  the  creeping  Saxons,'"' 
and  this  he  follows  with  the  longer  quotation  to  lead  on  to  his  next 
idea.     Compare   the   following  from  Wordsworth ;   " .   .   .  ^  Duty 


The  Strength  of  American  Democracy  269 

exists,'  says  Wordsworth,  in  the  Excursion  ;  and  then  he  proceeds 

thus  — 

' .  .  .  Immutably  survive, 

For  our  support,  the  measures  and  the  forms, 

Which  an  abstract  Intelligence  supplies, 

Whose  kingdom  is,  where  time  and  space  are  not." " 

The  same  method  is  employed  in  the  sentence  in  120,  21,  already 
noted  under  the  treatment  of  paragraphs,  where  the  main  idea  is  sin- 
gled out  in  the  word  "  sentimental "  and  then  repeated  in  other  words ; 
and  the  same  way  of  doing  things  is  to  be  seen  in  the  quotation  from 
Renan  (118,  25),  the  substance  of  which  has  already  been  made 
clear  in  the  preceding  sentence.  In  minor  points  the  effect  for  em- 
phasis is  to  be  noted  in  the  repetition  of  a  word  and  the  suppression 
of  the  connective,  as  in  "a  Celtic  element,  a  Germanic  element" 
(116,  14),  and  "the  Celtic  genius,  the  Germanic  genius"  (15). 

These  points,  which  are  after  all  various  aspects  of  the  same 
principle,  may  be  fixed  by  one  or  two  questions  from  a  different 
point  of  view :  Do  you  notice  any  wide  variation  in  sentence 
forms  ?  If  so,  do  they  exist  for  the  sake  of  variety,  as  with  Mr. 
Morley,  or  for  clearness  pure  and  simple  ?  Does  a  large  proportion 
of  the  sentences  seem  periodic,  and  is  the  effect  of  the  style  as  a 
whole  periodic?     Do  the  sentences  read  smoothly? 

III.  Summary  and  Suggestions.  —  As  has  been  said,  Arnold's 
style  has  so  many  characteristics  in  common  with  his  structure  that 
the  foregoing  analysis  has  been  short.  One  or  two  general  tests, 
however,  may  be  applied:  it  would  be  interesting  to  strike  out 
Arnold's  repetitions  and  connecting  phrases,  or,  after  rewriting  one 
of  his  paragraphs  on,  say,  Macaulay's  plan,  to  note  the  gain  in 
terseness  and  trenchancy  and  the  loss  in  exactness.  The  fact,  too, 
that  few  explanatory  footnotes  are  necessary  indicates  the  clearness 
of  Arnold's  work. 

V.  THE  STRENGTH  OF  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Style.  —  We  have  before  noted  (p.  235)  the 
clearness  of  structure  of  Mr.  Bryce's  chapter  and  the  method  by 
which  that  clearness  is  obtained.  The  questions,  whether  the  style 
is  also  clear  and  by  what  method  clearness  is  produced,  are  the 
objects  of  our  present  study.     These  may  quickly  be  disposed  of. 


2/0  Notes 

II.  Technique  of  the  Style.  —  A.  Words.  —  Answers  to  two  ques- 
tions will  fix  the  characteristics  of  the  vocabulary  in  the  student's 
mind:  —  Are  there  any  words  not  clear  and  accurate  in  denotation 
or  employed  in  unusual  senses  ?  Do  you  note  any  words  or  phrases 
which  give  peculiar  distinction  to  the  style  ;  i.e.  is  there  any  unusual 
specificness,  as  with  Froude,  or  individuality,  as  with  Stevenson,  or 
range  and  variety,  as  with  Mr.  Morley,  or  cautious  selection  and 
repetition,  as  with  Arnold?  Questions  of  etymology  and  the  like 
may  be  put  aside  for  the  student  to  answer  at  his  leisure. 

B.  Sentences.  —  The  sentences  require  more  care,  but  they  also 
may  be  best  treated  by  questions  :  — 

1.  Do  the  sentences  conform  to  the  loose  or  to  the  periodic  type? 
If  the  loose,  are  the  words  still  kept  in  a  natural  order  and  is  there 
any  difficulty  in  following  the  thought  ?  Compare  137,  25,  27 ; 
139,  3;  140,  18;  142,  25.  Is  this  looseness  ever  a  positive  gain? 
Compare  144,  9, 147,  29. 

2.  The  citations  suggest  the  principles  of  emphasis,  coherence, 
and  unity.  Is  the  looseness  ever  detrimental  to  the  emphasis  ;  i.e. 
does  Mr.  Bryce  often  bury  an  important  word  by  placing  a  loose 
clause  after  it?  Compare  138,  20,  23.  Is  the  looseness  ever  an  aid 
to  coherence  ?  Compare  the  last  example  cited  under  i,  and  136,  3, 
and  153,  4.  In  any  of  the  examples  cited  would  the  unity  be  im- 
proved by  breaking  the  sentence  or  by  rearranging  it  to  avoid  the 
loose  construction  ? 

3.  Regarding  these  qualities  apart  from  looseness,  how  do  they 
appear  to  you?  Is  the  emphasis  better  at  the  beginning  of  sen- 
tences than  at  the  end  ?  Compare  "  The  Federal  Constitution " 
(134,  3),  "All  over  Europe"  (6),  "Even  in  England"  (11),  and 
the  like  with  the  closing  words  of  the  sentences.  Does  this  empha- 
sis, so  to  speak,  mark  out  definitely  the  limits  of  each  sentence  both 
at  the  beginning  and  at  the  end?  Is  the  connection  of  each  sentence 
with  the  preceding  and  the  following  sentences  plain?  Compare 
"Another"  (134,  26).  Are  the  connectives,  both  connective  words 
and  phrases,  firmly  used  ?  Is  there  great  variety  in  them  ?  In  these 
respects,  compare  the.  structure  of  the  sentences  with  that  of  the 
paragraphs  {cf.  pp.  236,  237). 

4.  Do  you  note  any  lack  of  finer  shades  in  the  coherence  and 
unity  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better  to  say,  instead  of  "  which  a 
Ring  levies"  (138,  15),  "levied  by  a  Ring,"  in  order  to  keep  the 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  271 

same  subject  throughout  the  sentence  ?  Should  not  "  whose " 
(145,  6)  be  changed  to  "of  which"  for  more  accurate  coherence? 
Does  "which"  (153,  12)  introduce  an  idea  apart  from  the  sen- 
tence, and,  if  so,  should  not  the  articulation  be  differently  made? 
Compare  136,  21. 

5.  Does  the  looseness  which  we  have  before  noted  ever  lead  to 
positive  clumsiness  and  cumbrousness  of  style?  Compare  136,  6; 
142,  3  ;  143,  23  ;  145,  5  ;  and  the  like.  Are  these  sentences  hard  to 
grasp  entire  ?  Is  their  lack  of  ease  and  force,  if  it  exists,  brought  out 
by  contrast  with  such  balanced  sentences  as  142,  22,  and  148,  27. 

6.  It  may  be  interesting  to  note  that  Mr.  Bryce's  sentences  are  a 
trifle  shorter  than  those  of  Mr.  Morley  (34.15  to  34.68  for  Macaulay), 
What,  then,  is  the  difference  in  effect,  and  how,  in  any  of  the  ways 
indicated  above  and  on  pp.  259  and  263,  is  this  produced? 

III.  Summary  and  Suggestions.  —  As  the  foregoing  questions 
suggest,  Mr.  Bryce's  style  is  clear,  plain,  unadorned,  without  dis- 
tinction of  word  or  phrase,  but  thoroughly  useful  for  its  purposes  — 
to  state  a  case  clearly  and  directly,  without  prejudice,  colouring,  or 
superfluous  unction.  Hence  it  is  fitting  for  a  model :  its  simplicity 
and  directness  are  wholesome ;  its  defects  are  so  obvious  and  easy 
of  eradication  that  a  student  may  readily  avoid  them. 


VI.    THE   CROWN   OF   WILD   OLIVE. 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Style.  —  The  two  selections  which  follow  de- 
pend for  their  effect  on  a  finer  handling  of  style  than  we  have 
noticed  in  any  of  the  preceding  essays.  In  the  introduction  to  The 
Crown  of  Wild  Olive ^  one  is  impressed  not  only  by  the  strength 
and  earnestness  of  Ruskin's  manner,  but  also  by  the  elegance  of 
rhythm  and  recurring  sound,  and  the  sympathetic  modulation  of 
phrase  and  sentence  which  renders  an  ordinary  passage  smoother 
and  more  flowing,  and  an  unusually  picturesque  and  eloquent  pas- 
sage more  picturesque  and  eloquent. 

II.  Technique  of  the  Style.  —  A.  Words.  —  The  qualities  of 
Ruskin's  vocabulary,  as  regards  individual  words,  are  of  no  great 
importance  here  ;  for  the  main  excellence  of  his  style  lies  in  the  skill 
with  which  he  combines  his  words  and  phrases  into  sentences.  As 
an  introduction  to  the  sentences,  however,  a  few  characteristics  of  his 


272  Notes 

diction  may  be  noted,  (i)  The  vocabulary  is  large,  and  is  composed 
of  simgle,  jather  homely  words,  mostly  of  Saxon  origin.  (2)  Many 
of  these  words  are  such  as  we  associate  with  Biblical  phraseology, 
as  "hallowed"  (155,6),  "troubled  only  of  angels"  (156,  28)  ;  some 
are  names  which  suggest  the  Bible,  as  "the  porch  of  Bethesda" 
(156,  29),  "  Hill  of  Mars  "  (168,  14)  ;  and  it  will  be  noted  not  only 
that  several  quoted  phrases  {e.g.  155,  4,  166,  5),  but  that  several 
phrases  not  in  quotation,  as  "that  the  life  was  more  than  the  meat, 
and  the  body  than  raiment"  (165,  30),  "the  life  that  now  is" 
(171,  21),  and  "that  which  is  to  come"  (23),  are  from  the  same 
source.  (3)  Adjectives  are  rather  numerous,  especially  toward  the 
end  of  the  selection,  and  generally  in  the  more  picturesque  and  the 
more  eloquent  parts.  These  adjectives  (and  the  nouns,  also),  it  is 
important  to  note,  are  {a)  sometimes  compounds  of  Ruskin's  devis- 
ing, as  "fain-hidden"  and  "full-confessed"  (155,  8),  "dead-fallen" 
(164,  14),  and  are  {b)  often  used  in  somewhat  unusual  senses,  as 
"distinct  connection"  (163,  2),  "astonished  condition"  (164,  15), 
"last  depravity"  (167,  13),  and  the  like.  (4)  Lastly,  there  is 
much  alliteration,  as  in  "  conjiitj  in  jub^tan^e  not  in  dpherj" 
(162,  II),  and  other  such  combinations. 

B.  Sentences.  —  Ruskin's  style  is  commonly  called  a  balanced 
style,  and  this  characterization  is  in  the  main  true  of  it.  The  bal- 
ance is  one  of  form  and  symmetry,  however,  rather  than  of  sub- 
stance ;  there  are  few  real  antitheses,  such  as  we  have  seen  in 
Macaiilay ;  it  is  rather  the  matching  of  one  clause  by  another  of 
equivalent  rhythmical  value.  One  of  the  most  obvious  examples  is 
166,  12,  a  sentence  of  two  members,  in  which  the  words  of  the  first 
are  exactly  parallel  and  equivalent  to  those  of  the  second,  with  the 
omission  of  the  connectives  "And  as."  Another  begins  with  line 
21  of  the  same  page,  where  the  symmetry  is  not  quite  so  exact. 
The  sentence  may  be  expressed  thus : 

We  usually  believe  |  in  immortality, 

so  far  as  to  avoid  preparation  |  for  death ; 

and  I  in  mortality, 
so  far  as  to  avoid  preparation  |  for  anything  |  after  death. 

"And"  is,  of  course,  the  pivot,  so  to  speak,  and  "We  usually  be- 
lieve "  is  made  equivalent  to  "  after  death  " ;  otherwise  the  symmetry 
is  exact  enough.     The  sentence  contains  an  illustration  which  ac- 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  273 

counts  in  part  for  Ruskin's  unusual  use  of  words :  for  the  sake  of 
the  balance  he  uses  "mortality"  in  the  Shaksperian  and  now  uncom- 
mon sense  of  huinan  life.  Another  case  in  which  the  symmetry  is 
one  of  rhythm  rather  than  of  form  is  to  be  seen  in  the  triplicate  sen- 
tence of  the  same  page  (17),  thus  : 

Men  must  |  either  hereafter  live, 
or  hereafter  die ; 
fate  may  be  bravely  met, 

and  conduct  wisely  ordered,  |  on  either  expectation ; 
but  never  in  hesitation  |  between  ungrasped  hope 
and  unconfronted  fear. 

This  quality  of  symmetry  comes,  in  all  probability,  from  Ruskin's 
early  and  diligent  reading  of  the  Bible.^  The  same  sort  of  balance 
may  be  seen  in  such  passages  as  the  following : 

He  that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  place  |  of  the  Most  High 

shall  abide  under  the  shadow  |  of  the  Almighty.  — Psalm  xci.  i. 

Or  again : 

Or  ever  the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  |  or  the  golden  bowl  be  broken, 

or  the  pitcher  be  broken  at  the  fountain,  |  or  the  wheel  broken  at  the  cistern. 

Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth  |  as  it  was  : 

and  the  spirit  shall  return  unto  God  |  who  gave  it.  —  Ecclesiasies,  xii.  6,  7. 

This  balance  is  often  carried  out  in  the  clauses ;  not  only  is  clause 
balanced  with  clause  but  phrase  with  phrase  and  word  with  word. 
This  may  be  seen  in  the  sentences  quoted  above,  but  the  following 
(155,  2)  is  a  better  example  : 

No  cleaner  or  diviner  waters  ever  sang  (  with  constant  lips  of  the  hand  which 

"  giveth  rain  from  heaven  " ; 
no  pastures  ever  lightened  in  spring-time  |  with  more  passionate  blossoming ; 
no  sweeter  homes  ever  hallowed  the  heart  of  the  passer-by  |  with  their 

pride  of  peaceful  gladness,  — 
fain-hidden  —  yet  full-confessed. 

The  same  effects  on  a  larger  scale  are  to  be  observed  in  the  three 
sentences  of  164,  8-28,  and  in  the  long  sentence  168,  16. 

We  shall  get  a  better  notion  of  the  symmetry  of  the  style  if  we 
examine  the  grouping  found  in  any  characteristic  sentence.      Thus, 

^  C/.W.G.  Collingwood :    The  Life  and  Work  of  John  Ruskin.     London 
(Methuen),  1893.    Vol.  I.  pp.  16,  22. 
T 


274 


Notes 


to  take  the  last  quotation,  if  we  indicate  the  words  which  naturally 
fall  together  in  groups  when  the  passage  is  read,  we  shall  find  that 
the  passage,  with  some  rearrangement,  looks  as  follows : 


A 

B 

C 

D 

I. 

(  cleaner  \ 
No        or       /  waters 
(  diviner  ' 

ever  sang 

with  constant 
lips  of  the  hand 
which  "  giveth 
rain  from 
heaven  " ; 

II. 

no  pastures 

ever  lightened 
in  spring-time 

with  more 
passionate  blos- 
soming ; 

III. 

no  sweeter  homes 

ever  hallowed 
the  heart  of  the 
passer-by 

with  their  pride 
of  peaceful 
gladness,  — 

IV. 

fain-hidden  — 
yet  full- 
confessed. 

Another  good  example  is  156, 23,  which  illustrates  a  different  rhythm. 
Alliteration  1  is  also  prominent.  In  the  passages  before  quoted  it 
is  patent  that  the  effect  is  in  a  large  measure  due  to  the  recurrence 
of  the  same  consonant  sounds.  A  good  example  is  the  third  sen- 
tence (155,  8),  where  the  trick  is  especially  obvious  in  the  recur- 
rence of  the  nasal  and  spirant  sounds,  as  in  "...  I  have  ;/ever 
s^^n  Sinything  so  ghastly  in  its  inner  tragic  //lesining,  —  ;/ot  in  Fisa.n 
J/are;//;;/a,  —  not  by  Ca;/^pa^;/a  tomhy  —  not  by  the  S2.nd-is\es  of 
the  Torcellaw  jhore,  —  as  the  slow  stealing  of  aj-pecti-  of  reckle^^, 
i«dole;^t,  a«i;//al  neglect,  over  the  delicate  sweetness  of  that  Engiish. 


1  For  a  good  account  of  alliteration,  see  R.  L.  Stevenson :  On  Style  in  Liter- 
ature,    Contemporary  Review,  47  ;  548. 


The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  275 

jce;/e  :  nor  is  a^^y  bla^phe/z/y  or  i;//piety,  a;^y  fra;ztic  Jayi;^^,  or  god- 
lej-J  thought,  7//ore  appalli;^?^  to  ;/^e,  Ms'mg  the  bejrt  power  of  judg- 
m^nX.  I  have  to  dXsctxn  its  j-eiue  a/zd  j-cope,  tha;^  the  i^jolewt  defili;/^ 
of  thoi"e  springs  by  the  hu7;i3.u  herds  that  dri«k  of  the;//."  Another 
good  example  is  165.  4-10,  in  which  the  fv  and  pd  sounds  predomi- 
nate, the  /v  at  the  beginning,  and  the  pd  towards  the  end.  It  is 
probable  that  to  these  sounds  the  passage  —  and  such  others  as 
167,  1-16  and  168,  5-1 1  —  owes  much' of  its  beauty;  for  these 
sounds  are  among  the  most  musical  of  the  consonants.  Of  allit- 
eration, balanced  in  the  different  members  of  a  sentence,  155,  2, 
twice  cited  above,  is  a  good  instance. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Ruskin  sometimes  seems  to  go  out 
of  his  way  to  obtain  his  alliterative  sounds.  As,  for  the  sake  of 
symmetry,  we  found  "mortality"  (166,  23)  in  an  unusual  sense,  so 
we  find  "cast"  (156,  4)  and  "dig"  (8)  where  a  writer  less  sensi- 
tive to  sound  would  have  used  "  threw  "  and  "  bury  " ;  and  so,  too, 
"Carshalton"  (155,  23)  instead  of  "Addington"  or  "  Beddington." 
The  same  may  possibly  be  true  of  "that"  (155,  21)  and  "which" 
(25),  though  one  should  hardly  pronounce  very  subtly  upon  the 
matter. 

The  cadence,  that  is,  the  fall  in  sound  of  the  clause  or  the  sen- 
tence, is  so  noticeable  a  quality  in  Ruskin's  style  that  it  need  be 
hardly  more  than  referred  to.  Roughly  speaking,  one  could  say 
that  the  closing  words  of  a  sentence  are  prolonged  a  trifle  to  make 
the  sentence  fall  away  gradually  and  without  abruptness.  Thus,  in 
the  thrice-quoted  sentence  (155,  2),  one  function  of  the  words 
"fain-hidden  —  yet  full-confessed"  is  to  avoid  an  abrupt  ending. 
Such  is  the  function  of  the  words  "  and  streams  "  in  the  final  phrase 
"  with  all  their  pools  and  streams  "  (155,  2)  of  the  preceding  sen- 
tence ;  and  other  good  instances  are  "from  the  porch  of  Bethesda" 
(156,  28),  and  "those  wells  of  English  waters  "  (157,  2). 

III.  Summary  and  Suggestions.  —  The  qualities  of  Ruskin's 
style,  of  which  the  main  lines  have  been  indicated,  require  a 
more  exhaustive  examination  on  the  part  of  the  student,  in 
order  that  they  may  be  verified,  that  new  facts  may  be  brought 
to  light,  and  especially  that  some  notion  may  be  obtained  of  the 
use  which  Ruskin  makes  of  these  qualities.  On  the  last  of  these 
points  several  questions  may  be  asked : 

I.    Do  you  notice  a  wide  range  of  sentence  forms?     Should  you 


276  Notes 

say  that  Ruskin  frequently  uses  several  sentences,  together  or  apart, 
in  which  the  scheme  of  symmetry  is  precisely  or  nearly  the  same? 

2.  Do  certain  parts  of  the  selection  appear  to  you  to  contain 
more  alliteration  than  the  others,  to  be  more  evenly  balanced,  or  to 
have  more  flowing  cadences  ?  Should  you  say,  for  instance,  that  in 
I.  and  II.  there  is  much  balance  and  alliteration;  that  in  III.-IX. 
there  is  comparatively  little;  that  in  X.-XV.  there  is  again  a  great 
deal;  and  that  in  XVI .  the  harmony  becomes  wild  and  dissolute? 
If  so,  should  you  say  that  there  are  corresponding  changes  in  the 
subject-matter  ? 

3.  In  detail,  can  you  trace  any  fine  shading  between  the  idea  and 
the  style?  Do  you  feel,  for  example,  an  appropriate  difference  in 
rhythm  in  passing  say  from  sentence  2  to  sentence  3  (155,  8)  of  I.? 

4.  Does  Ruskin  usually  work  up  a  sentence  to  a  climax  of  sound 
and  sense  in  such  a  way  that  though  the  structure  be  actually  loose, 
the  effect,  except  for  the  cadence,  is  a  constantly  heightening  one  ? 


-VII.   WHAT   IS   A   UNIVERSITY?- 

I.  Purpose  of  the  Style.  — In  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Universi- 
ties, Newman  appears  as  the  advocate  for  a  cause  which  to  most 
readers  seems  out  of  keeping  with  modern  notions  —  the  founding 
of  a  modern  institution  on  the  ancient  classical  and  early  Christian 
ideal.  Hence  the  purpose  of  his  style,  as  of  his  structure,  is  not 
merely  to  make  his  idea  clear,  but  also  to  impress  its  virtue  upon 
his  audience,  and  to  do  this  in  such  a  way  that  he  may  captivate 
them  before  they  are  aware.  On  the  first  reading  of  the  present 
chapter  one  probably  finds  little  that  seems  peculiar  and  striking ; 
the  style  appears  wholly  natural  and  easy,  and  it  is  only  on  analysis 
that  the  subtlety  and  dexterity  of  Newman's  handling  become  ap- 
parent. The  skill  with  which  Newman  conceals  his  art  makes  the 
style,  in  spite  of  the  unmodern  cast  of  the  idea,  a  thing  of  power 
and  beauty.  To  use  a  single  word,  Mr.  Morley's,  the  style  may  best 
be  characterised  as  "  winning."  ^ 

II.  Technique  of  the  Style.  —  A.  Words.  —  The  chief  facts  which 
should  be  pointed  out  with  regard  to  Newman's  vocabulary  are 

1  Macaulay,  91,  28.  For  a  good  account  of  Newman's  method  and  style 
see  L.  E.  Gates  :  Selections  from  Newman.    New  York  (Holt),  1895.    pp.  ix.-lix. 


What  is  a   University  ?  277 

three:  (i)  the  range  and  variety  of  the  words,  seen  best  in  such  ^^-^ 
passages  as  177,  10-24,  ^80,  8-23,  and  185  ;  (2)  the  aptness,  as  well 
as  the  accuracy,  of  the  diction,  which  convinces  a  reader  that  New- 
man has  chosen  the  word  best  suited  to  his  meaning ;  and  (3)  per- 
haps more  important,  a  slightly  Latin  turn  to  the  words  throughout 
the  chapter.  This  last  characteristic  does  not  mean  that  Newman 
uses  a  very  large  percentage  of  foreign  words,  but  that  many  of  his 
important  words,  the  words  which  stand  for  the  main  ideas,  express 
ideas  of  Latin  origin,  and  in  Newman's  use  of  them  not  usual  to  our 
way  of  thinking.  This  characteristic  is  seen  not  only  in  such  Latin 
phrases  as  '•'•  Studium  Generate'^''  (172,  4)  and  *''■  litera  scripta'^'^ 
(173,  21),  but  also  in  such  phrases  as  "an  authority  of  appeal" 
(175,  16),  "  we  must  repair  to  the  fountain,  and  drink  there"  (176, 
22 ),  and  in  the  kind  of  illustration  which  Newman  uses,  that  from  the 
Sibyl  (174, 4)  and  that  from  the  history  of  the  early  Church  (183). 

B.  Sentences.  —  Among  the  characteristics  of  Newman's  sentences 
the  most  notable  is  the  frequent  balance.  This  is  not  so  much  a 
pairing  of  clause  with  clause,  as  with  Ruskin,  though  examples  of 
this  sort  are  not  uncommon  {e.g.  176,  12),  as  in  the  adding  of  clause 
to  clause  and  the  piling  up  of  a  series  of  like  constructions.  A  good  y 
example  is  180,  8,  referred  to  above :  the  subject  of  the  sentence  is 
prolonged  for  twelve  lines  by  the  accumulation  of  phrases  and  words 
and  is  broken  by  semicolons  into  four  large  groups,  each  with  its 
own  subdivisions.  Another  example  on  a  smaller  scale  is  185,  25, 
and  throughout  the  essay  there  are  many  such.  This  is  a  trait 
which  we  have  not  seen  in  any  of  the  foregoing  selections ;  it  is  a 
trait,  moreover,  which  suggests  Cicero  more  than  any  modern  writer. 
(Cf.  Rhetoric,  p.  122.) 

A  few  effects  which  distinguish  this  form  of  sentence  may  be 
noted,  (i)  There  is  a  rapidity  of  movement  coming  from  this  bal- 
ance and  the  frequent  omission  of  connectives  {e.g.  183,  4,  5,  6) . 
(2)  The  close  of  the  sentence  is  generally  prolonged  to  produce 
a  cadence  {passim^.  (3)  Each  sentence  usually^ moves  towards  ^ 
a  climax  of  idea  {e.g.  172,  5,  174,  15).  It  should  be  further  noted 
that  this  climax,  as  well  as  the  speed  of  the  sentences,  comes  from 
the  accretions  of  words  and  phrases  {e.g.  177,  10),  which  move 
towards  a  cumulation  of  idea ;  so  that,  though  many  of  the  sentences 
are  technically  loose  in  structure,  the  effect  of  the  style  is  distinctly, 
though  not  monotonously,  periodic.      The  same  effect  of  climax  is 


278  Notes 

of  course  true  of  the  structure  of  the  entire  chapter,  throughout 
which  the  idea  gains  in  lucidity,  richness,  and  enthusiasm  of  presen- 
tation, just  as  the  style  gains  vigour  and  rapidity  of  expression. 

In  Newman's  handling  of  sentences  there  are  one  or  two  things 
to  be  observed  —  the  variety  in  which  these  few  essential  character- 
istics are  to  be  found,  and  the  dispersion  of  effects  throughout  the 
chapter.  That  is  to  say,  the  naturalness  and  ease  of  Newman's 
style  comes  from  the  fact  that  no  one  trait,  unless  it  be  a  natural 
climax  and  the  piling-up  of  phrases,  is  prominent  above  all  others. 
One  cannot  say,  as  with  Arnold,  for  example,  that  any  single  quality 
is  in  excess.  Let  us  take  as  a  single  instance  of  what  is  meant 
perhaps  the  most  oratorical  passage  in  the  chapter,  the  passage  in 
which,  at  least,  the  same  forms  recur  most  frequently  —  paragraph  XI. 
In  this  paragraph  the  sentences  are  shorter  than  those  of  any  other 
paragraph  of  the  chapter,  except  the  very  short  XII.,  which  is  really 
a  continuation  and  a  summing  up  of  XI.  Their  average  length  is 
less  than  twenty-seven  words  (26.87)  ;  no  one  of  the  preceding  ten 
paragraphs  has  an  average  sentence  of  less  than  thirty  words.  The 
movement  is  more  rapid  than  that  of  any  of  the  preceding  para- 
graphs ;  and  this  rapidity  comes  about  from  the  similarity  in  the 
structure  of  the  sentences  ;  the  majority  begin  with  "  It  is,"  and  the 
balance  of  clauses,  especially  toward  the  end,  is  striking.  This 
similarity  does  not,  however,  render  the  passage  monotonous,  for 
Newman,  by  the  restatement  of  his  main  thesis  in  184,  27,  and  by 
a  good  deal  of  unsymmetrical  looseness  of  sentence  structure, — 
the  majority  of  the  sentences  are,  in  fact,  technically  loose,  —  has 
broken  the  formula  without  breaking  the  swing  of  his  sentences. 
Indeed,  the  only  principle  that  is  used  without  stint  is  climax :  the 
language  is  more  figurative  toward  the  end  than  at  the  beginning, 
and  in  the  last  sentence  Newman  cleverly  owns  himself  unable  to 
rise  to  the  expression  of  his  idea;  the  sentences  become  a  trifle 
more  rapid  in  movement,  and  the  beat  grows  more  regular ;  and,  to 
complete  the  effect,  each  sentence  works  up  to  its  main  idea,  now 
expressed  in  a  loose  clause,  now  in  periodic  form.  In  other  para- 
graphs the  variety  of  use  and  the  dispersion  of  effects  is  even  more 
characteristic. 

III.  Summary  and  Suggestions.  —  The  foregoing  analysis  has 
been  purposely  general.  It  has  attempted  merely  to  indicate  the 
chief  traits  of  Newman's  style,  and  to  show  how  these  are  obtained. 


General  Suggestio7is  for  the  Study  of  Style     279 

These  results  should  be  verified  by  the  student.  In  the  present 
essay  Newman's  style  is  perhaps  easier  of  analysis  than  elsewhere. 
It  has  less  rhetorical  parade  than  that  of  The  Idea  of  a  University^ 
and  is  less  artfully  simple  and  insinuating  than  that  of  the  Apologia 
pro  Vita  Sita,  to  both  of  which  a  student  should  turn. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Newman  never  wrote  rapidly  and 
readily.  He  always  took  great  pains  with  his  style,  often  revising 
chapters  "  over  and  over  again,"  and  this  practice  he  was  obliged  to 
keep  up  till  late  in  life.^ 


GENERAL  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STUDY  OF  STYLE. 

Since  style  is  a  more  various  thing  than  structure,  to  formulate  a 
series  of  questions  covering  the  possible  range  of  expression  is 
a  practically  impossible  task.  A  few  suggestions  of  a  general  sort 
may,  however,  be  offered  to  aid  the  student  toward  getting  a  better 
hold  of  any  given  bit  of  style,  and  applying  its  lessons  to  his  own 
work.  A  student  should,  then,  (i)  master  the  structure  of  an  essay 
to  see  what  the  purpose  of  the  author  is ;  (2)  he  should  note  the 
general  impression  that  the  style  makes  on  him,  and  should  make 
this  impression  more  definite  by  comparison  with  other  pieces  of 
writing ;  (3)  he  should  then  attempt  to  analyze  the  causes  of  this 
impression  by  considering  {a)  the  words  and  {b)  the  sentences; 
(4)  he  may  then  verify  his  analysis  by  various  tests,  such  as  the 
change  here  and  there  of  a  word  or  a  sentence,  and,  in  some  cases, 
by  mechanical  tests ;  and,  lastly,  (5)  he  should  attempt  to  see  how 
the  style  is  fitted  to  the  purpose  of  the  author,  and,  as  a  larger  prob- 
lem, in  what  respects  it  is  expressive  of  the  author's  personality. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY   OF   STYLE. 

The  best  books  dealing  with  style  are  the  following.      The  refer- 
ences are  in  all  cases  made  to  the  editions  used. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  Rhetoric  : 

Genung,  J.  F.,  The  Practical  Elejnents  of  Rhetoric.    Boston  (Ginn), 
1894.    pp.  11-192. 

1  Letters  and  Correspondence  of  John  Henry  Newman.  '  Edited  by  Anne 
Mozley.  London  (Longmans),  1891.  Vol.  II.  p.  476.  The  letter  is  dated 
April  13,  1869,  Newman's  sixty-ninth  year. 


28o  Notes 

Hill,  A.  S.,  The  Foundations  of  Rhetoric.      New  York  (Harper's), 

1892.  pp.  27-302. 

Hill,  A.  S.,  The  Principles  of  Rhetoric  (revised  edition).    New  York 

(Harper's),  1895.     pp.  1-230. 
McElroy,  J.  G.  R.,  The  Structure  of  English  Prose.      New  York, 

(Armstrong),  1890.     pp.  50-280. 
Wendell,  Barrett,   Eftglish   Composition.     New  York   (Scribner's), 

1893.  pp.  1-113  and  193-307- 

Only  the  more  modern  treatises  have  been  referred  to,  and  in  a 
general  way.  For  a  detailed  table  of  references  to  the  various  ele- 
ments of  style,  as  treated  in  these  books,  see  Rhetoric^  pp.  vii.,  viii. 

Books  dealing  with  the  analysis  of  style  are  the  following : 

Minto,  William,  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature.      Edinburgh 

(Blackwood),  1881. 
Sherman,  L.  A.,  Analytics  of  Literature.      Boston  (Ginn),  1894. 

pp.  256-341. 

The  following  essays  on  style  should  be  cited : 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  Style.     Complete  Works.     New  York  (Harper's), 

1853.     Vol.  IV.,  pp.  337-343- 
De  Quincey,   Thomas,  Style.      Works.      Edinburgh  (Black),   1890. 

Vol.  X.,  pp.  134-245- 
Pater,  Walter,  Style,  in  Appreciations.     London  (Macmillan),  1890. 

pp.  1-36. 
Renton,  William,  The  Logic  of  Style.     London  (Longmans),  1874. 

(Suggestive,  but  difficult.) 
Saintsbury,  George,  English   Prose  Style.,  in  Miscellaneous  Essays. 

New  York  (Scribner's),  1892.     pp.  1-41. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  The  Philosophy  of  Style.      New  York  (Appleton), 

1872. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  On   Style  in  Literature.      Contetnporary  Review. 

Vol.  47,  P-  548. 
Symonds,  J.  A.,  Notes  on  Style,  in  Essays  Specidative  and  Sug- 
gestive.    London  (Chapman  and  Hall),  1890.    Vol.  I.,  p.  256 ff. 

Vol.  II.,  pp.  1-30. 


EXERaSES  IN  RHETORIC 

AND 

ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

BY 

GEORGE  R.   CARPENTER, 

Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Composition,  Columbia  College. 

HIGH-SCHOOL  COURSE.     SEVENTH   EDITION, 
i6ino.    Cloth.    Price  75  cents,  net. 


"This  work  gives  the  student  the  very  gist  and  germ  of  the  art  of 
composition."  —  Public  Opinion. 

"G.  R.  Carpenter,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Composition 
in  Columbia  College,  has  prepared  a  work  under  the  title  of  *  Exercises 
in  Rhetoric  and  English  Composition,'  in  which  not  so  much  the  science 
of  Rhetoric  is  mapped  out  and  defined  as  the  practical  workings  of  the 
art  are  furnished  to  the  student  with  just  enough  of  the  principles  to 
guide  him  aright.  The  author  gives  an  abundance  of  exercises  for  the 
student  to  study  and  analyze,  and  this  is  the  very  best  kind  of  help.  The 
scheme  of  the  subject-matter  is  somewhat  unique  and  novel,  but  it  is 
comprehensive  and  lucid.  ...  A  very  serviceable  and  suggestive  book 
to  read  and  consult." — Education. 

"  The  text  represents  the  substance  of  teaching  which  a  freshman  may 
fairly  be  expected  to  compass,  and  it  is  set  forth  with  a  clearness  and 
directness  and  brevity  so  admirable  as  to  make  the  volume  seem  almost 
the  realization  of  that  impossible  short  method  of  learning  to  write  which 
has  often  been  sought  for,  but  never  with  a  nearer  approach  to  being 
found.  .  .  .  We  do  not  hesitate  to  give  unreserved  commendation  to 
this  little  book."  —  The  Nation. 

"  Seldom  has  so  much  good  common  sense  been  put  within  so  brief 
a  space."  —  The  Boston  Herald. 


MACMILLAN  &  CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,    NEW  YORK. 


EXERCISES  IN  RHETORIC 

AND 

ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

BY 

GEORGE  R.   CARPENTER, 

Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  Etiglish  Composition,  Columbia  College. 

ADVANCED  COURSE.     FOURTH   EDITION. 
8vo.      Cloth.      Price  $i.oo. 


"  The  high-school  course  of  '  Exercises  in  Rhetoric  and  English  Compo- 
sition '  was  published  with  the  idea  of  presenting  in  a  compact  form  (i)  such 
theoretical  matter  as  it  seemed  to  me  necessary  for  the  young  student  of  Rhetoric 
to  have  thoroughly  in  mind,  and  (2)  material  for  practice  of  all  sorts  in  apply- 
ing the  principles  laid  down  in  the  text.  That  book,  which  was  somewhat  too 
elementary  for  college  use,  I  have  now  enlarged  and  made  more  advanced  in 
character,  until  it  represents,  to  my  mind,  a  body  of  instruction  in  Rhetoric 
suitable  for  the  first  semester  or  the  first  two  terms  of  the  freshman  year.  If 
any  other  teacher  should  chance  to  make  use  of  my  work,  he  will  perhaps  be 
helped  by  noticing  several  peculiarities  which  it  shows.  First,  I  have  said  very 
little  about '  style.'  What  a  freshman  needs  most  of  all  is  to  write  correctly, 
clearly,  and  with  some  vigor.  Attempts  to  lay  stress  on  individuality  of  style  or 
on  the  element  of  beauty  in  the  pupil's  writing  should,  I  think,  be  deferred  until 
later  in  the  course.  Second,  I  have  treated  Rhetoric  as  an  art,  not  as  a  science. 
The  other  point  of  view  is  natural  and  reasonable,  but,  it  seems  to  me,  appropri- 
ate for  only  more  advanced  students  than  those  for  whom  I  intend  this  book. 
Third,  I  have  attempted  to  broaden  the  pupil's  interest  in  the  art  of  expression 
by  making  an  occasional  use  of  Latin,  French,  and  German  illustrations. 
Fourth,  I  have  endeavored  throughout  not  to  expound  the  various  principles  on 
which  I  think  the  art  of  Rhetoric  rests,  but  to  propose  a  series  of  questions  and 
problems  which  the  instructor  and  his  pupils  may  together  discuss  and  solve.  — 
Fro7n  the  Author's  Preface. 

Among  other  colleges  and  schools  in  which  Professor  Carpenter's  books 
are  used  mention  may  be  made  of  the  following : 

Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technology,  Boston;  Wellesley  College,  Welles- 
ley;  Tufts  College;  Bates  College,  Lewiston,  Me.;  Hobart  College,  Geneva, 
N.  Y.;  Hamilton  College,  Clinton,  N.Y.;  The  Woman's  College  of  Baltimore; 
Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  O. ;  Wabash  College,  Crawfordsville,  Ind.; 
Mary  Institute,  preparatory  to  ^Vashington  University,  St.  Louis;  High  Schools 
in  Boston,  Charlestown,  Fall  River;  of  Miss  Porter's  long-established  school  in 
Farmington,  Conn.  ;  and  of  many  other  excellent  private  and  public  schools  in  New 
York  City,  Providence,  Philadelphia,  Pittsburgh,  Baltimore,  Cincinnati,  and 
Chicago. 

MACMILLAN  &  CO., 

66   FIFTH    AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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